


give this wandering soul a home

by sunshineflying



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drug Use, Excessive Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Minor Briana Jungwirth/Louis Tomlinson, Minor Eleanor Calder/Louis Tomlinson, Minor Niall Horan/Harry Styles, Past Liam Payne/Louis Tomlinson, Past Louis Tomlinson/Nick Grimshaw - Freeform, Past Perrie Edwards/Zayn Malik, Skins UK AU, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 22:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 104,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6257782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshineflying/pseuds/sunshineflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson lives in a sleepy town in Essex, near a small uni where all his friends seem to be going – except for him. He thrives on having a social life – with his best friend Liam at his side and the cherubic new boy Harry across the street, life is good. But when autumn comes around and everyone goes off to uni, Louis starts to spiral out of control. </p><p>The feeling of being left behind never really goes away, so Louis doubles his efforts to forget, hardly sober for more than a day at a time, and yet life still goes on around him. Louis wants to grow up, he does, it’s just that it’s hard to do when the ones around him are far more successful than he is. It isn't until his mother's harsh ultimatum that Louis is brought back to a sobering reality.</p><p>Covering nearly five years, this fic follows all the characters, though Louis most of all, as they work their way through relationships, road blocks, and more coursework than they can sometimes handle to come through alright on the other side. Through a series of ups and downs, Louis and everyone else settle into lives they’re pleased with – a task that several of them didn’t think was possible to accomplish. Inspired by Skins UK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer '09

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot even begin to thank everyone who has helped me with this fic enough. This is the largest thing I've ever undertaken and I'm SO proud to be sharing it with all of you now.
> 
> To my cheerleaders: Jen, Kara, Laura, Mariah, Greta, I could not have gotten to this place without you guys. You had faith in me when I'd lost all hope of ever completing this behemoth of a fic, and I feel I'm a stronger writer because of it. Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your support and encouragement.
> 
> To my betas, Brit-pickers, and Irish-pickers: Shannon, Nicole, Jen. This fic wouldn't be half as good without you guys looking it over, fixing little mistakes, catching continuity errors, and making it sound a little more authentic to the regions it takes place in. You are all superstars for reading through all of this.
> 
> And of course, to the incomparable Razz, my artist. It's been a pleasure working with you, and the piece you created for this fic is more amazing than I could have ever hoped for. Thank you SO much for your beautiful piece of art. I'm truly honoured to have had you as my artist this round.
> 
> **[[art/tumblr post here](http://tiffinities.tumblr.com/post/141093702041/title-give-this-wandering-soul-a-home)]**  
> 
> 
> Any remaining mistakes, flubs, or booboos in this piece are entirely my own. 

Louis isn’t used to seeing new people around.

It’s not that his town is particularly boring, it’s just that - well, it is. Nobody new ever comes, but people are always leaving. It’s a sleepy town, a boring town, and as long as his best friend Liam doesn’t leave him, Louis thinks he’ll be alright. And his dealer, Zayn. Zayn’s got a good head on his shoulders and he’s fun to hang out with and snog on occasion. Not that he’s into blokes, at least when he’s sober. Louis just goes after a cheeky snog once in awhile because the number of guys willing to make out with Louis is sadly very low in Colchester. But mostly Louis loves that Zayn sells the best weed.

But now there’s a family moving in across the street and Louis is watching with a wary eye.

It’s a woman and two kids - teenagers, by the looks of it - one girl and one boy. The girl’s pretty enough, with dark hair and rather plain clothes, and the boy - well, he’s cute, but young. He looks about fourteen, though he could be older and just have a baby face.

Louis decides he’d quite like to find out.

The mum and daughter are inside, the last of their boxes brought in from the street where they’d unpacked it from the moving van. That just leaves the boy, who is busying himself with the organization of all their outdoor decorations - mostly pots of plants. It’s a strange thing to be doing the first thing when you move, Louis thinks.

“Oi!” Louis calls as he steps up over the kerb and into the boy’s lawn. “Why’ve you got so many plants?”

The boy is clearly flustered, and he looks over his shoulder and nearly knocks over the plant he’s fussing with in alarm. “Oh - hi,” he mutters. He lets go of the plant and turns to face Louis properly. He reaches out a hand, but flushes bright pink in the apples of his cheeks when he realizes his hands are covered in dirt. He wipes them on his jeans and says, “I’m Harry.”

“Hiya Harry. Welcome to the neighborhood,” he says, shaking Harry’s hand. There’s still specks of dirt, but Louis doesn’t mind. “I live across the street,” Louis explains. “Now why’ve you got all these plants for your porch? There’s plenty in the ground, you know.”

Harry’s flushed and awkward as he says, “I um… I dunno. Mum likes them. We all do. It’s just…” he shrugs. “It makes it feel more like home.”

“This isn’t much of a place to call home,” Louis informs him. “Unless you’re into boring old towns where there’s nothing to do.”

Shrugging, Harry admits, “It’s like that where I came from, too.”

Louis studies him, trying to sort out how old he is. He’s discerned that Harry’s from the North, given his accent, and he’s clearly younger than Louis. But how young, Louis can’t quite place. “How old are you?” he asks curiously. If he’s close enough to his own age, he might just have to take him under his wing and show him how to really do things in Colchester.

“I’m eighteen,” he says softly.

“Christ,” Louis laughs. “You look far younger.”

Harry swishes his hair out of his face with a quick turn of his head and says, “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Louis smiles. Harry seems just naive and sweet enough to be the perfect sidekick, someone to follow him wherever he goes, who will get up to things with him and support him through everything. He genuinely seems like a nice guy. “Well Harry, looks like you’ve got a new best friend,” Louis says with a grin, slinging his arm around Harry’s shoulders.

They’re the same height, which Louis also likes. None of this tiptoe nonsense like he’s going to have to do with Liam. The bloke won’t stop growing, which irritates Louis to no end, because he’s past the point of growing anymore and he’d quite like to always be taller than Liam. It reminds Liam that Louis is in charge.

Harry chuckles awkwardly and gives Louis a sheepish look through his curls. He’s got a cheeky smile on his face as he asks, “If we’re going to be best friends, then shouldn’t I know your name?”

Louis grins.

“I’m Louis. My friends call me Tommo.” He takes a moment to smile at Harry before he adds, “And I can tell that you and I are going to get along just fine.”

“Great,” Harry smiles, his eyes shining and his dimples deep in his cheeks.

“Yes, it is,” Louis nods. “It means you can hang out with me tonight. Leemo backed out and I’d like to go do something fun. So you’re stuck with me.”

Harry’s eyes go wide as saucers and he gapes at Louis like a fish out of water. “I - what? Tonight?”

Louis lets go of Harry and waves at the stunned looking teenager standing in his front lawn, watching Louis retreat back to his own house. “I’ll see you at nine!” he calls out behind him.

Harry just stares.

He’s not quite sure what he’s just gotten himself into.

After that, Harry and Louis are inseparable. It takes merely a week for Louis to get in the habit of just barging into Harry’s house without so much as a knock on the door, but in his defense, Harry’s mum said he could. Harry was shocked, though, to find Louis letting himself into his bedroom after waltzing in without a problem downstairs. But then Louis tossed himself on the bed and told Harry about the crazy party he’d gone to the night before, and it was nice.

Harry was relieved that he’d found a friend. He hadn’t thought he would - at least not so soon.

Louis shows Harry all over their sleepy town, taking him down the street to Liam’s and dragging him along to buy more weed from Zayn one afternoon. It doesn’t take long before Harry feels like he’s just sort of folded into the rest of the group.

Louis makes him feel like he’s not the new kid, and Harry’s grateful for that.

Gemma, Harry’s older sister, is quite critical of Louis, though. She says he seems reckless, bored. Harry agrees - anyone with eyes knows that Louis is both of those things and more - it’s just that he doesn’t mind much because for once, he’s out and having fun and it’s all thanks to Louis. One day, maybe, it’ll be a bad thing, but Harry’s sure Louis will grow out of it.

He doesn’t dare tell Gemma that she and Louis are very nearly the same age. It would only go to her head and prove her point even more.

It takes three weeks for Harry to have the guts to ask Louis if he can go along next time, rather than just listening to stories about it the next day. Summer is almost over and he wants to know what it’s like before everyone goes off to school. When he asks, Louis’s face breaks out into a wide grin. “You want to go out. Like, to drink?” he asks, bemused.

Harry’s sheepish as he nods, his cheeks flushed bright red as his eyes shift around the room. He knows that if he looks at Louis directly, he’ll feel even more embarrassed for having to invite himself along. He’s biting his lower lip as he smiles, and Louis simultaneously thinks it’s the most adorable and annoying thing ever. He can’t imagine Harry drunk, or even deigning to take a sip of whatever shit vodka shots they can afford at the pub, but the thought of him attempting it is more than Louis can deny.

“Alright, then,” Louis nods. “We’ll go out this weekend. Zayn’s making a trip to this bar nearby to hand out some new stuff, and I could probably talk Leemo into going, too.”

As it turns out, Liam’s got plans with his friend Andy, but Louis is still taking Harry out. The temptation is too much to resist.

He’s going to corrupt his new friend, show him the fun night life in their little town - the only fun Louis has ever been able to find in this place - and he’s going to make sure Harry loves it.

Louis shows up at Harry’s door, late as usual, though Harry hasn’t learned this yet. He’s waiting nervously by the door for a full ten minutes before Louis arrives, and when he does, Harry rushes out the door before anyone in his family can chat with Louis. His mum has no idea he’s going out to a bar, and he thinks that one look at Louis will give it all away. He’s not even dressed like trouble, Harry’s just paranoid.

He follows Louis down the winding streets of town, and it’s dead silent save for their footsteps on the pavement. Louis keeps glancing over, watching Harry with amusement, and he watches with a smug grin on his face as Harry nervously fumbles for his wallet at the door to the bar when the bouncer wants to check his age. Louis holds his up, though there’s no need because they all know him there, and as soon as they walk in, Harry pauses to gaze around with comically wide eyes.

Louis guides Harry straight over to the bar, with the intention of giving Harry a drink or two to take down his nerves a little bit. Harry’s clearly flustered and out of his element, and Louis can have pity on people when he feels like it.

“Still stuck around town, eh Tommo?”

It’s a voice like nails on a chalkboard to Louis, who’s just trying to be charitable and show little innocent Harry how to have a good time. He turns towards the voice at the bar with his eyes narrowed. “Fuck off, Grimshaw,” he snaps. He’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Harry, wide-eyed and pouty-lipped, looks up at this man, curiosity piqued by their exchange. It’s so brash, but so comfortable all at once, like they spar with their words all the time. Harry’s eyes linger on Nick’s, which are sparkling with mirth and just the slightest bit unfocused from the alcohol, before darting down to his lips as Nick speaks.

“Still sore that I won that poker game?”

“You wish,” Louis snorts derisively. “You know full well I don’t fucking care if people see me bits.” Louis turns to Harry, “We played poker and he thought the loser should streak through the square. At three in the morning. Lamest fucking dare ever, I tell you.”

“Someone’s been drinking,” Nick laughs. He leans against the bar as he turns his focus to Harry and explains, “Quite the potty mouth on him when he drinks, this one. It’s cute how he thinks it makes him seem tougher, innit?”

Louis’s eyes narrow dangerously, but Harry’s entranced by this new, gorgeous older man on the other side of the bar. He nods, and he’d continue to stare unabashedly if it wasn’t for Louis’s elbow smacking sharply into his ribs. “Ow,” Harry whines adorably, clutching his chest as he doubles over.

“Well that wasn’t very nice, Tommo,” Nick frowns. He preps two Jagerbombs - the specialty of the night - and slides them over to Harry and Louis. “Have a shot, little one. It’ll take the pain away.”

“I’m Harry,” he corrects, pouting at the nickname _little one_. Nick thinks it’s unbelievably cute.

Harry eyes the glass warily and Louis looks suspicious, but Harry desperately wants to impress Nick. He’s so intrigued by this man, so caught up in the dashing smile and the way he can give Louis a run for his money - he’s a guy Harry finds himself wanting in a desperate, carnal way for reasons he can’t quite explain. Louis drops the shot of Jager into the Red Bull, and tips back his shot like it’s nothing. Harry follows suit, trying his very best to do the same. He pulls a face as the liquor goes down, bitter on his tongue and burning his throat even through the thick carbonation of the Red Bull. His fluffy, curly hair bounces as he tips his head back and then to face Nick again, who’s watching him with amusement. “That was… good,” Harry chokes out as he tries not to gag.

“Liar,” Nick laughs.

Harry flushes, bright splotchy pink all over his cheeks, and Louis pulls him away before he can say another embarrassing word. Louis’s grip is tight on his wrist as he leads him all the way back to the loos and into the last stall - the largest. There’s a girl moaning in the one next to them, loud thundering against the walls of the stall, and Louis merely rolls his eyes whilst Harry realizes what’s happening. “They… here?” he asks in a loud whisper.

“You really don’t get out much, do you?” Louis asks flatly.

Harry bites his lower lip and shrugs. “Never really knew people who did,” he confesses. “This place is different.”

“Well, if you’re going to live here and stay friends with me - which you are - you should get used to it. And you should stay away from Nick.”

He’s full on pouting now, giving Louis a look with his puffy pink lips - he’s been picking at them all night, nervously - and those big, innocent green eyes. It’s hard for Louis to stay angry when Harry’s looking at him like that. “He’s nice,” Harry says, and he’s not slurring, but he’s starting to feel that pleasant dizzy spin that tells him the alcohol is kicking in. “He bought me a shot.”

“He’s trying to get you drunk,” Louis explains. “He’s like that. He… doesn’t have the best reputation.”

Harry giggles - actually _giggles_ \- and shakes his head. “Louis,” he says, drawing out the last syllable of Louis’s name so adorably it’s hard for Louis to stay mad. “He’s not going to try to sleep with me. He wouldn’t! He’s too nice.”

“You don’t know him like I do,” Louis says seriously. “Promise me you won’t, Harry. Don’t trust Nick Grimshaw.”

Ever the people pleaser, Harry finds himself nodding and saying, “I promise,” even though he really wishes he hadn’t. He wants to make friends in this new town, wants Louis to like him and keep bringing him out into the world to things like parties and bars. Harry wants so badly to fit in. He also just wants Nick. Badly. He swallows hard and sways a little on the spot. “Let’s get you a water, shall we?” Louis suggests.

Harry hadn’t actually expected Louis to be so ‘mother hen’ about the outing to the bar, but here he was, bringing Harry back to a different section of the bar - away from Nick - to get him a water. “I’m not drunk,” Harry protests, but sips at the water all the same.

As they’re sitting at the bar, new drinks in hand once Louis is convinced Harry’s not too horribly drunk, Louis’s phone buzzes. Harry only knows because he feels the vibration through his trousers, their legs thigh-to-thigh. He hadn’t even realized they were sitting so close, but they are, and a warmth spreads through him. Louis is sipping at a drink - it looks like soda but it’s probably a mixer, and he reaches for his phone. After a quick glance at the screen, he turns to look over his shoulder. “Who was it?” Harry wonders. “More friends?”

Louis hesitates before he nods, “Yeah. More friends.”

Harry turns on his barstool to watch as people mill about on the dance floor. He must be properly buzzed now, he guesses, because everything spins just the slightest as he watches bodies moving out on the floor, jumping and rolling to the beat. He happily sips more at his drink, and once it’s finished he smiles because Nick’s already got a fresh one ready for him. He winks as he hands it over and Harry feels his whole face go hot.

Laser lights bounce overhead and Harry gets a jolt of energy - wants to dance _so badly_ \- but Louis is clearly waiting for people, so he’s polite and waits patiently. In mere minutes, a couple pushes through the crowd looking casual, though they’re clearly on a mission. In walks Zayn, and he looks good - really good. Harry’s seen him before, sure, but not whilst drunk. Not when he’s in this uncensored state of mind. Zayn’s got just enough facial hair to make him look older than he is, and though he’s not very tall, he’s definitely got a presence. His arms are spattered with tattoos and his clothes are baggy, but trendy, though he’s just wearing trousers and a tee. He looks like the baddest boy in town, and Harry would be lying if he said he wasn’t intimidated.

Holding loosely onto this lad’s hand was a beautiful girl - blonde, though clearly from a bottle - with sparkling blue eyes and a killer body. She’s wearing a dress - something short and tight but not too revealing, and some sparkling sandals. Her nails and hair look like she’s come straight from a salon and with her makeup, she looks like a total bitch even though her smile says she’s the sweetest girl in town. She’s following him obediently, looking there but not quite _present_ , and she beams at Harry as she sees him.

“Hey, love!” she says like she’s seen him before. “How are you?”

The girl pulls him into a hug and disoriented, Harry stumbles from his barstool and down to hug her proper. “Hi,” he says, the single syllable long and low as he basks in the new wave of drunkenness being on his feet provides him. “I’m good. Y’alright?”

“Yeah, cheers,” the girl beams.

Harry looks at her, lost and confused, and she says, “I’m Perrie. Remember?”

And Harry doesn’t remember - of _course_ he doesn’t remember - because he’s only been in town for a few weeks and Louis was the first friend he made. He certainly would have remembered Perrie - not just because of her smile and warmth even towards perfect strangers, but because she’s a girl, and Harry’s always keen on making a good impression on girls. He is, after all, the perfect gentleman. “I’m Harry,” he says.

He tries offering his hand, but she waves it off to hug him again. “Didn’t Louis talk to you?” she asks, whispering in his ear as they embrace.

“Talk to me about what?” Harry asks lamely, his brows furrowed in bewilderment.

“Nothing, dear Harold, nothing at all,” Louis says, boisterously loud, and Perrie steps back to stand in tow with Zayn again. “Perrie, how are you, love?” he asks as they hug.

Harry’s beyond confused now, and he offers his hand to the other lad, too baffled to speak. “Harry, remember Zayn?”

“Hey,” Zayn says, shaking hands with him as Harry nods.

It’s awkward now, nothing but the booming of the music around them, and Harry’s itching to move, to figure out what’s going on or to dance or _something_. He’s got enough alcohol in him to feel restless and he wants to fix it before it becomes unbearable. He opens his mouth to speak, only to realize he hasn’t got a single intelligent thing to say. Thankfully he hasn’t got to come up with one because someone’s tapping on his shoulder and he turns around, grateful for the reprieve.

“Can I steal you away for a dance?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be behind the bar serving drinks to innocent, trusting young boys?” Louis snaps.

It takes Harry a few moments to catch up to the situation, but Louis is glaring over his shoulder and the voice sounded warm and lovely. It’s Nick; he knows before he ever turns around. Nick is tall, Harry notices - taller than he seemed when he was standing behind the bar. Sure, Harry’s not done growing yet, but he likes being littler around Nick. Usually it makes him want to crawl out of his skin, but around Nick it just feels right.

“I finished up my shift, Tommo, _relax_ ,” he says, smirking. It makes Louis seethe.

Harry hears Louis tut behind him, but he finds himself nodding anyway, as he decides that even if Nick’s got the wrong intentions, a dance can’t hurt in the slightest. “I’ll be outside then, Harry. With Zayn and Perrie,” warns Louis as he watches Harry be led to the dance floor.

“I won’t bite,” Nick smiles, half-jokingly to Harry. He waits until they’re out on the floor moving hesitantly against one another before he adds, “I know what he’s told you, but to be fair, you should watch out for Louis as well.”

Harry’s hands hold Nick’s shoulders and he wants to ask questions - he’s got a million of them - but their bodies have met at the hips as they begin to get into the beat and every word gets lost on his tongue. Nick’s hands are warm and light on Harry’s back as he leans in again, body surrounding every inch of Harry’s thin frame, as he adds, “That Zayn there is dealing him. That’s why his bird was so friendly with you. She distracted you while he slipped Louis something. Dunno what it was, but… don’t get involved with all that.”

That doesn’t make any sense to Harry, why it would be so bad. The whole _dealing_ thing isn’t exactly good, but it’s only weed. It can’t hurt. He turns to look back at Louis, Zayn, and Perrie as they leave the club, but Nick’s finger on his jaw stops him mid turn. He focuses Harry’s face back at him and says, “Don’t look. They’ll know I’m telling you. But trust me.”

Harry heard the words, wants to tell Nick that he already knew, but he’s far more focused on Nick’s hand and his one single finger that drew them eye to eye - that _made_ Harry listen to him. His eyes dart down to try to look at Nick’s index finger where it’s still pressed to his jaw. It feels electric, Nick’s hand on him, protecting him, keeping him from fucking up. Nick notices the way Harry’s cheeks flush and how he looks down at where they’re touching whilst he licks his lips. “ _Oh_ ,” Nick revels in this new knowledge.

His voice draws Harry’s gaze upwards again and his throat bobs as he swallows thickly, his whole body buzzing now, alcohol coursing comfortably through his veins. Harry wraps his arms around Nick’s shoulders now, worried that if he lets go, he’ll fall over. Nick must realize, must feel the extra weight of Harry’s he’s supporting just to keep him upright. “How many drinks have you had, little one?” Nick asks, suppressing bemused laughter.

“Don’t call me little one,” Harry slurs with quite possibly the most adorable pout in the world. “I’m eighteen.”

Nick smiles - full on _grins_ \- and nods. “Alright, fair enough. But maybe I shouldn’t have given you that last drink. Was this your first time?”

“Had some wine with my mum a few times,” Harry mutters, sounding insulted as Nick leads Harry toward the door. “I like the drinks. They feel _good_.” He draws out the o in good, his voice low, and it’s so close to a moan that Nick has to close his eyes and gather his composure.

Harry’s a dangerous one when he’s drunk. He becomes even more irresistible and Nick loves learning more about him with each passing second. He walks Harry out the front doors and there’s Perrie, Zayn, and Louis sitting on the pavement at the corner of the building, smoke escaping from their lips in small puffs. Or from the lads’ mouths, rather. Perrie’s just sort of sitting there picking at her fingernails like she’d rather be anywhere else. “Harry!” Louis exclaims. “Come ‘ere! Have a smoke.”

Louis holds out what is quite obviously a blunt to Harry, but Harry’s got no idea what it is. “I’ve never smoked before,” Harry says, speech still slurred. He tries to walk towards them, but Nick stops him.

“I think we should just get you home. You’re a bit pissed there, love,” Nick says. He’s holding Harry around his waist and trying his best to look out for this new kid because Louis, in Nick’s humble opinion, is doing a rather shit job of it.

Zayn snorts and takes the blunt from Louis, who just looks angry again - at Nick. “You can’t take him home,” he says flatly, but he’s reclined against the wall of the building now, slumped over like he’s fully high and won’t be moving anytime soon.

He takes the blunt back from Zayn and takes a long drag as Nick asks, “What are you going to do, Tommo?” It’s a challenge he knows Louis won’t rise to, being so high and all. “You’re proper stoned, you’re not moving until you’re kicked out of here.”

Louis rolls his eyes, too blissed out and relaxed to really fight it. “Told you,” Nick mumbles to Harry. “He’s rather worthless once he’s high. I reckon I ought to get you home then, huh?”

Suddenly Harry looks panicked and he sways on the spot to turn to face Nick. “Nonono,” he mumbles. “You can’t. Mum - she can’t - I didn’t -”

And Nick gets it, he does. He snuck around plenty when he was in his younger years. He remembers the fear of getting caught, and doesn’t push Harry on it. “Alright, it’s fine,” he says, rubbing Harry’s back gently. “Let’s go to mine, then. You can crash there.”

Harry’s looking up at Nick in awe, like he doesn’t realize Nick’s got his own place. He licks his lips and his eyes are unfocused, but he’s beaming, and _oh god_ those dimples. Nick doesn’t quite know how to handle being looked at in that way, so reverently, so he waves it off like it’s nothing and says, “C’mon then, love.” There are a couple cabs parked along the road, waiting for people who might need them, and Nick’s thankful for it. He’s worked a long shift and just wants to go home. “In you go,” he says, helping Harry into the cab, protecting him from hitting his head as he clambers in, uncoordinated like he’s just grown extra limbs. 

It’s cute, how lanky and clumsy Harry is when he’s drunk. Nick really likes this new guy, even though he knows next to nothing about him. “You’re the best,” Harry murmurs as he scoots across the back seat to curl into Nick’s side, pretending he’s even smaller than he actually is.

Louis glances up just in time to see Nick helping Harry into the car, and by the time Louis has gathered the energy to stand, the car is pulling away from the curb. “Well fuck,” he mutters. “He can’t fucking -” he begins.

Zayn stands too, groaning like it’s the most difficult chore he’s done in months, and asks, “What’s going on?”

“Harry’s gone and left with fucking _Nick_ , mate,” Louis says sourly.

“So?” Perrie asks. “Nick seems like a nice lad.”

Louis’s whole face goes dark as he shakes his head. He knows from experience that looks can be deceiving. Nick Grimshaw knows exactly how to get what he wants. “He’s not a _nice lad_ ,” Louis says through gritted teeth. “He’s a fucking hypocritical arsehole, is what he is.”

Perrie’s face turns into a frown and Zayn claps Louis on the back. “Forget them. Let Harry make his own mistakes. Let’s go back to mine, yeah? I’m fucking hungry.”

Louis isn’t usually easily swayed, but he’s hungry too - and Zayn’s got a good point. Harry’s all grown up. Sort of. Louis is too stoned to carry a single train of thought for too long. Bribed with the thought of food, he’s complacent as he follows Zayn and Perrie over to Perrie’s worn-down car. He climbs in the back and relaxes into the cushion of the seat, letting his high wash over him once more.

\+ + +

Louis is sitting around in his backyard the next morning nursing a hangover with a warm cup of tea when he hears the crunching of footsteps on the stone path leading to the backyard. He looks up to see Harry, tired and disheveled, like he hasn’t taken a shower since before they went out to the bar the night before. “I see you survived your evening,” Louis says boredly. He’s not exactly thrilled to see Harry after he’d ditched him the night before. “Did your mum find out?”

Harry shakes his head and wanders over to sit down in the dirty, broken lawn chair next to Louis’s. “No. Said I crashed at Nick’s because we were up late hanging out and I didn’t want to wake her,” he explains.

Louis scoffs. “Hanging out. That’s one way to put it,” he says through pursed lips.

Harry frowns deeply and watches Louis like he’s trying to figure out why Louis would sound so mean. “I didn’t do anything with him,” Harry says. Louis can hear the hurt in his voice, but he doesn’t want to give into it.

“Nothing? Not a single thing?” Louis presses, because he doesn’t believe Harry for a second.

Harry hesitates. “We kissed, I guess. But I nearly vommed in his mouth because I’d had so much to drink,” he offers, thinking it’ll fix things. “He took care of me while I got sick and put me to bed after. Then he gave me coffee this morning and drove me home. That’s all.”

“So not nothing, then,” Louis argues.

With a frown, Harry shakes his head. “Nearly nothing,” he amends.

Louis takes another sip of his tea, but says nothing more on the subject.

“Why do you hate him so much?” Harry wonders.

But Louis doesn’t answer. He’s not ready to talk about it and he’s not sure he ever will be, least of all to Harry. As much as Louis wants to ruin Nick for innocent, naive Harry, he can’t. “Just trust me, okay?” Louis says. “Don’t get too close to him. I mean it, Harry.”

“He was nice.”

Louis huffs, frustrated that Harry doesn’t seem receptive to any of his advice. He sips his tea again and Harry’s still got that frown on his face. Louis hates it. 

“I don’t understand, Louis,” Harry tries weakly. “Explain it to me. If he’s like, some secret serial killer, I’d like to know.”

Louis knows what Harry’s trying for, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. As far as Louis is concerned, this is Harry’s mistake to make now. Louis stands and dumps out his lukewarm tea onto the grass beside him. “If you like him you should just go for it,” Louis sighs. “I’ll be here to pick up the pieces. I promise.”

With that, Louis walks inside, leaving Harry to stand, bewildered, in the backyard.

Louis doesn’t spend much time in his house - just enough to have breakfast - before he’s checking the garden to be sure Harry is gone. Satisfied with his empty lawn, he begins walking his way through town to Liam’s place. They’ve never lived that far apart, but it feels like it now that Louis is hungover and the tea he had wasn’t nearly enough to help his headache. He just needs his best friend, and he needs to get everything off his chest, and he needs to not see Harry or Nick for a while.

He knocks as a warning before letting himself into Liam’s house, because that’s just how they do things. His family got used to it ages ago. Liam’s mum waves from the kitchen and his dad holds up his tea in a silent greeting whilst Louis nods hello. Then he’s darting up the stairs two at a time, as per usual, because Liam’s the one he’s here for.

But Liam’s not awake yet.

That’s remedied easily enough, Louis thinks, so he closes Liam’s bedroom door behind him and then takes a running start toward the bed. He leaps onto it, sending Liam into a scramble to figure out what in the world is going on. He gets an explanation in the form of Louis’s maniacal laughter, which draws an exasperated moan from him. “Aren’t you hungover? Christ, Lou,” Liam mutters, burying his face in his pillows.

“Quite, actually,” Louis acquiesces. “Are you? You didn’t even come out last night.”

Liam grumbles, “Went to Andy’s.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Yes, but _I’m_ your best friend.”

“I can have two,” Liam protests as he sits up in bed, rubbing at his eyes.

Once he’s at least half-awake, he looks up at Louis and knows right away something is wrong. He frowns and his brow furrows and he says, “Alright, under the covers. What’s going on?”

That’s the perk of being friends with someone for as long as memory serves: they know what he needs. And Liam’s the only one Louis knows he can trust, too. He curls up under the blankets and doesn’t look at Liam as he says, “Harry’s with Nick.”

Liam lets out a heavy breath and puts an arm around Louis, cuddling him close. Knowing Louis so well, he instantly knows what’s wrong, what Louis needs. He rubs his back as he asks, “Is it like, official? Like, Facebook official and all that rubbish?”

“No,” Louis sighs. “I don’t know. Nick took Harry home with him, and Harry was so drunk he was throwing up last night. He wouldn’t remember it even if they _did_ fuck.”

“I doubt they… hooked up,” Liam replies awkwardly. “Nick takes his time.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “How do you know?”

“Well didn’t he -,” he begins, but then Louis cuts him off as he says, “Harry only admitted to a kiss, but that’s bad enough.”

Liam frowns and pulls Louis closer. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Harry’s supposed to be _my_ friend. We met a month ago and I’ve shown him all around the city and for what? So he could ditch me?” Louis laments. He’s curling onto his side, a hand touching Liam’s bare chest with little feather-light touches. Liam rubs his back and sighs.

“Sharing’s never come easy for you,” Liam points out. He’s treading on thin ice and he knows it, choosing each word carefully, deliberately. “I’m sorry he’s done that,” he concedes. “I really am.” His big, warm brown eyes look down at Louis as he says, “I think Harry would behave a bit differently if he knew the history.”

“It shouldn’t matter.”

Louis’s voice sounds firm, but Liam knows there’s fear behind it - knows Louis doesn’t like opening up about his past to anyone, especially people who run off with Nick Grimshaw even if Louis has warned them not to.

Louis feels so small, but for once, he’s okay with it. Liam’s the only person he ever allows himself to feel small around and that’s because they’ve been best friends since they were toddlers. Louis can’t imagine a life without Liam in it. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t know who else he’d go to for rubbish advice and true friendship, even _if_ Liam is two years younger than he is.

“You’re right,” Liam agrees. “It shouldn’t. But Harry’s new and he’s young and he’s going to make his own mistakes. And you just have to decide whether or not you’re going to stick around and be there for him when he learns about Nick the hard way.”

It’s not exactly what Louis wants to hear - and he quite dislikes the fact that Liam is so _right_ and he’s giving out _good_ advice for once - but at the same time he’s grateful for it. He lets out a shaky breath and says, “Why do I have to take the higher ground?”

“You don’t have to,” Liam reminds him. “But it’s usually because you’re older, wiser, and all that rubbish.”

Louis laughs and shakes his head. “Stop making sense, Payno. I don’t like it.”

They fall into comfortable silence, Louis curled up against Liam’s chest, and it reminds him of everything he’s ever remembered fondly from his childhood. The familiar scent of _Liam_ beneath whatever cologne he thought was cool at that point in life. Or before he even wore cologne at all. The way Louis has always slotted perfectly against Liam’s side, just short enough for their every curve to match up like puzzle pieces. The comfort he’s gotten from an embrace with Liam that Louis has never managed to find anywhere else. He’s always wished they’d find some spark, that their years of friendship was just the two of them chasing that spark that would make it easy, would lead them to each other and something real, something romantic. But it’s not meant to be and Louis is fine with that. They’re closer than close friends - they’re everything each other needs to get through the tough spots. Louis has never been so grateful for anyone in his life, ever.

“Your room looks the same as it did eight years ago,” Louis teases gently, breaking the silence.

Liam chuckles and takes a minute to look around. “Your memory is so _odd_ ,” he laughs. “How do you remember that?”

“Well… we were right here, just like this,” Louis explains. “And we’d just kissed.”

With a nod, Liam says, “Yeah. I remember now. I was what, ten?”

“Something like that,” Louis agrees. “I was like eleven or twelve, I can’t remember. But like… we’d kissed and I was trying so hard not to make it weird, so I just laid here, like this, staring at your fucking walls. It felt like hours.”

Liam laughs and says, “I stared at the ceiling the whole time until you finally said something.”

“I don’t even remember what I said, can you believe that?”

“You probably blocked it from your memory, you twat,” Liam says, reaching out to fluff up Louis’s mussed hair, shoving it even more askew. “You said I was a shit kisser.”

“You were! I remember that!” Louis is full-on laughing now, and Liam’s glad he’s been able to cheer Louis up, even if it’s at the expense of himself, and the embarrassment of his twelve-year-old self. Louis taps Liam’s chest and says, “You - you told me that if I didn’t like it I should teach you how to do it better, then.”

“Oh god,” Liam groans, humiliated. “I did, didn’t I?”

“It’s alright, though,” Louis shrugs. His fingers are dancing across Liam’s chest again, through the thin curls of chest hair, as he says, “We snogged all night after that, and you got better at it.”

“I was so awkward at that age,” Liam laughs.

Louis pats his hand softly on Liam’s chest and says, “We all were. It was nice, though. Knowing I didn’t have to worry with you. That we could just figure it out together.”

Liam nods, quiet, and he knows what Louis means by that. There’s more behind the words than he’s saying. It was easy then, for Louis, because he didn’t have to worry about getting hurt. He’d seen his mum get dumped by men for one reason or another, and he’d worried the same would happen to him - like the problem in the relationship was _genetics_ or something - and it took a lot for him to trust Liam. And Louis had trusted people since then. But somewhere along the way, between that innocent preteen snog and where he’s at now, Louis’s trust had turned to cynicism and he ended up back in Liam’s bed, frustrated with the world.

“Thanks, Payno,” Louis says softly.

Liam looks down at Louis again and replies, “We’ve been over this a million times, Tommo, you -,”

“Thank you, Liam,” Louis interrupts, his voice firm and final.

This time, Liam doesn’t argue. It’s not like Louis apologizes anyway, but sometimes he does it when it’s not necessary. Liam just nods and holds Louis a little bit closer, resolved to help him through things no matter what it takes.

\+ + +

Summer is coming to a close, August quickly morphing into the cool chill of September, and Louis decides to have an all-out bash the weekend his mum takes his siblings to visit his nan. Louis would go with, but they’ve run out of space in the van now that the youngest set of twins is around, so he’ll go visit on his own time. It’s nearing the end of August and Louis only has so much time before they’ve got to find work or something, a job to pass the time between parties, really.

Besides, the idea of throwing a big summer party before another year of uncertainty starts is incredibly appealing to him.

So he gathers up all the lawn furniture, though it’s in sad disrepair, and piles it around the fire pit in the backyard. He starts the fire early - Liam’s there looking eager to roast marshmallows, his treat that he brought since he couldn’t get his hands on booze like Louis had requested - and they sit around drinking shit vodka out of the bottle Louis nicked from the shops the other day.

“So you’ve been hanging out with Harry more?” Liam asks as he tosses a stick into the fire. He’s reclined in a camping chair, watching Louis with a curious gaze.

“Yeah, I guess,” Louis shrugs. “I’m trying to believe him when he says he and Nick didn’t do anything, but I’m not an idiot.”

Liam frowns. “I know it sucks, but like… just let him make his own mistakes, I guess,” he offers.

Louis heaves a heavy sigh. “That’s the plan.” He shakes his head and takes another swig of vodka. He winces as it burns down his throat. “I’ve no idea what anyone could see in him.”

“Harry? Or Nick?”

Louis glares daggers at Liam, who chuckles even though Louis hadn’t found his joke all that funny. He gets serious though, and says, “Don’t worry about it. Harry will learn, or like… maybe they’re meant for each other?”

“Nick doesn’t deserve to have anybody.”

Louis’s voice is flat and final; Liam doesn’t return to the subject again.

The sun begins to set and it gets colder outside, the chill of late August settling into their bones. Louis sends Liam up to his room to fetch him a jacket, as he’s forgotten one, and he shrugs into it happily once Liam returns. It’s an old windbreaker, something his mum found for him when she was shopping at the charity store - it says Adidas on it, has the logo and everything, and Louis likes to pretend he bought it from the actual store. He likes to imagine one day he’ll have the money to be able to shop there for real.

“I’m bored. Where is everybody?” Louis whines after Liam’s sat down. Louis looks through the dim light of dusk at Liam, who just shrugs. It’s been like this lately, Louis preparing for a big bash but all his friends from school off at uni, moving on with their lives. The turnout for his parties is now pitiful at best. His closest friends, the ones younger than he is, show up dutifully to try to ease the embarrassment Louis hides beneath his obnoxious exterior.

“I invited Sophia, and she said she’s bringing Eleanor, so at least we’ll have them?” Liam offers.

Louis rolls his eyes. “I told Harry about it and he said he’d be here. I dunno why he’s not.”

By the time they hear the footsteps of Sophia and Eleanor letting themselves into the backyard, Louis is halfway to drunk and Liam’s blissfully buzzed. Their bottle of vodka is half empty, and Louis holds it out to Eleanor in offering when they arrive. He’s only met Eleanor a couple of times - she’s attached at the hip to Sophia, who’s been around for as long as Louis can remember. He thinks there’s something going on between Sophia and Liam, but it’s hard to tell. Liam’s sort of a dork, and he tells Louis _everything_ , so if something were going on, he’d know, for sure.

Sophia pulls up a chair next to Liam, and Eleanor pulls one up next to her, and they shake their heads at Louis’ offer of liquor. “We brought our own,” Sophia says, holding up a much fancier bottle of vodka.

“Someone’s posh, with her good-tasting liquor,” Louis teases. “Where’d you score that?”

“I nicked it from my parents,” Eleanor answers. “Could’ve nicked some for you, if you’d asked.”

Louis raises an eyebrow at Eleanor, because he hadn’t thought such a thing would be an option - he hadn’t known she’d be coming in the first place, either. “Fair point,” he nods. He pulls his nearly-dead mobile from his pocket and tosses it to her. “Give me your number, I’ll let you know next time there’s a party.”

“I wouldn’t bother,” Sophia says, bemused. “She’s leaving in a week.”

Eleanor’s cheeks flush and she elbows Sophia. She’s avoiding their eyes, focusing instead on Louis’s phone and putting her phone number into it so he can text her whenever he’d like.

“Where are you escaping to?” Louis asks, because that’s exactly how he sees it - she’s escaping this slow, boring town.

Eleanor hands back his phone and doesn’t answer at first. She takes a delicate swig of vodka and then replies, “I’m going to uni in Manchester. I leave next Saturday.”

Louis whistles, clearly impressed. She types out a text message comprised mostly of the thumbs up emoji, followed by a winking emoji, and then says to her, “I guess you’d better party hard tonight, then. Celebrate your freedom or summat.”

She nods to agree, and before Louis can say anything else, he looks up at the sight of a shadow on the side of his house. It turns out to just be Harry, and he waves awkwardly as he approaches. “Darling Harold,” Louis says, sidling a chair up next to his. “Have a seat. Have some vodka. The party’s just getting started.”

Sheepishly, Harry takes a seat next to Louis and grabs the bottle Louis thrusts out at him. It sloshes around and it smells horrific, but Harry brings it to his lips anyway, more to appease Louis than anything else. Harry’s got no plans to get drunk that evening, no matter what Louis might have planned.

“Eleanor was just telling us that she’s leaving for uni in a week,” Sophia says, hoping to break the awkward silence by including Harry on their conversation. “I wish I were going so far away,” she laments.

“You’re escaping, too?” Louis asks harshly.

Liam looks concerned as he focuses his attention to Sophia, and Louis doesn’t know what that means. He wants to, but he’s clueless. He hadn’t even realized Sophia had been applying for uni. A lot of kids from their town don’t. “Not escaping,” she admits, “I’ll just be at the University of Essex, here in town.”

“Ugh,” Louis groans. “Horrible. You need to escape if you’re going to uni! What’s the point in an education if it doesn’t get you away from home?”

Sophia’s cheeks redden and she shrugs. “I dunno. I sort of wanted to stick around here,” she says. Her eyes dart over to Liam, but he’s oblivious to it. Louis, however, is not.

“You could’ve gone. Leemo and I will just have more time to ourselves,” Louis brags, puffing his chest out.

Eleanor turns to Harry and asks, “What about you? What will you be doing in the fall?”

Harry shrugs. “Dunno,” he replies. “My mum and sister want me to go to uni, but I haven’t applied and honestly, I don’t know what I’d do. I’ll probably just try to find a job here for a while.”

“Isn’t there anything you love doing?” Sophia wonders, her voice soft. It’s like everyone feels the need to be sweet and gentle around Harry. Louis wishes he knew why.

“I mean, I guess,” Harry hedges. “I like music. But that’s just something I do for fun. Songwriting and stuff.”

Liam perks up at that, and he says, “You should play something for us sometime!”

That request turns Harry’s cheeks dark pink, and he shakes his head. “Oh no, I couldn’t,” he says. “I’m not _that_ good. Nobody’s ever heard my music before.”

“You don’t want to perform?” Eleanor wonders.

Harry shakes his head, more adamant this time, his curls flying free and wild as he does. “I do, but I’m not that good, and neither is my music,” he insists. “Really, it’s just a hobby.”

Louis narrows his eyes because he’s not so sure he believes that, but he’s too busy fumbling around in his jacket, looking for his cigarettes and his lighter. As he lights it, he realizes that Harry’s phone keeps buzzing. Narrowing his eyes, Louis asks accusatorially, “Who’s that?” Harry looks up in confusion, and Louis nods his head, gesturing to the phone. “There. Who are you texting? The party’s here, mate, not elsewhere.”

Cheeks red, Harry shakes his head. He doesn’t even take out his phone, the flash of fear in his eyes at Louis’s harsh gaze, and that says everything for him. Louis huffs, “I didn’t invite Grimshaw for a _reason_.”

“Louis,” Liam says in warning.

Louis just rolls his eyes and takes a deep drag of his cigarette. He exhales pointedly in Harry’s direction, feeling satisfaction settling deep inside his chest when Harry starts to cough. Louis can be petulant like that. He doesn’t even apologize. When he looks over at Liam, Liam’s just got a disappointed look on his face - Louis’s least favourite - and Louis’s mood sours.

Louis pulls out his phone and taps out a text message to Nick, a scowl on his face. _leave him alone, grimshaw_. It’s not much, but it feels vicious enough to at least tell Nick that he knows what’s going on, and that he’s not happy about it. After the message is sent, Louis doesn’t know what to do. The party isn’t turning out the way he’d hoped. Zayn hasn’t even showed, and Louis was sure he could get Zayn to come, and to bring Perrie, as well.

Louis is grateful that at that moment, Eleanor asks where the bathroom is. “Come with me, love. I’ll show you,” Louis says, and stands up to lead her into the house.

As they’re walking towards the back door, Louis reaches over for her hand. He’s not drunk - he’s got a rather high alcohol tolerance for someone who’s only twenty - and Eleanor seems to be able to walk in a straight line, which is a good thing. He shows her where the loo is, but rather than going back out to the bonfire, he waits at the end of the hallway for her to be done.

Eleanor looks surprised to still see Louis when she emerges, and she blushes a little as she ducks her head shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Hi,” she says, “I hadn’t expected you to wait for me.”

Louis shrugs. “It’s boring out there,” he confesses. “I’d much rather spend some time with you.”

Eleanor walks toward him slowly, her long legs going on for miles in her tight skinny jeans. Louis can’t stop staring - she’s beautiful, really. She’s young, but not too young; only eighteen but definitely old enough to know what she wants. She pauses once they’re toe to toe, and she giggles nervously when she bumps her elbow against his chest as she tucks her hair back again. “You hardly know me,” Eleanor reminds him softly.

“Does that matter?” he asks. “It’s a party. You’re leaving in a week. Might as well have some fun while you can.”

Her face breaks out into a smile as she laughs - full on laughs - and shakes her head. “While I can?” she says, amused. “I heard uni is where I’ll have the _most_ fun.”

Louis reaches out for her thin hips, pulls her close to him, and dips his head to make eye contact with her. “Yeah, they _say_ that, but I’m an absolute _delight_ ,” he replies.

Eleanor looks up at him, properly meeting Louis’s gaze, eye-to-eye, and she’s got flushed cheeks. Louis wishes he knew if it was the alcohol doing that to her, or if she was blushing because of him. He hasn’t moved his hands from where they’re holding her waist, keeping their bodies flush in the dark hallway of his empty house. Louis studies her a moment, looks into her eyes and searches for any possible sign that she doesn’t want him the way he’s suddenly wanting her, but there’s nothing. She’s got her hands half covered by the sleeves of her jumper, but she’s holding his shoulders and not scooting away.

She licks her lips, and he knows.

Louis ducks in, presses his lips to hers softly, and slides one hand up her back to rest between her shoulder blades, holding her close. She’s warm against his body and he’s sure she can feel his heart pounding in his chest. He’s always liked kissing the best - liked the intimacy of it, liked how it can happen anywhere, and that anyone could see. Louis holds her securely as he starts to walk, his feet moving slowly as he guides her backwards down the hallway, peppering little kisses along her neck and hiding them at the juncture of her jaw and behind her ear. His mouth is everywhere and nowhere all at once, and Eleanor’s got her fingers tangled in Louis’s messy hair as she lets him lead her where he wants to go.

Once they’re in his room, he kicks the door shut and only separates himself from Eleanor so he can move the dirty clothes off of his bed. He’s about to go back to Eleanor, but remembers one other thing. He and Liam have got a code - it was mostly for Louis’s sake, because Liam isn’t exactly the most fortuitous when it comes to relationships, but it’s useful anyway. When one of them has pulled and wants privacy, they switch on a light in their window. Louis’s got a little arc reactor lamp, something his sister had gotten him for his birthday back when he’d been obsessed with Iron Man. He’s got it facing outward so Eleanor’s none the wiser, and Liam’s got a Batman one propped in his window, just the same.

Louis then pulls his curtains closed and turns back to Eleanor, only to find that she’s helped herself to his bed. It’s unmade and a total mess, but Louis has never been one to project any illusions about the type of guy he is. He’s messy - people just need to deal with it.

He smiles at her and climbs back onto the bed, crawling over her and pressing her into the mattress as he steals another kiss.

The flick of the light in the window catches Harry’s eye from down by the bonfire, and when he notices it, he asks, “Why’s he just turned on that lamp in his window?”

Liam turns to look up, craning his neck, and when he sees it, he sighs. “He’s just pulled Eleanor, I’m guessing,” Liam explains. “It’s our code. So I don’t go bother him. Sort of like the sock on the door thing, except for people you don’t live with.” He looks from Harry, to Sophia, and back to Harry before he says, “I guess that means this party’s over.”

He stands up and finds the garden hose so they can extinguish the bonfire, and Harry’s frowning deeply. He feels like he’s ruined the party - he’s not an idiot, he noticed that Louis was in a foul mood ever since he figured out that Harry had been texting Nick all night. He’d almost asked if he could invite Nick, but thought better of it. Sophia looks uncomfortable too, and she just offers Harry a sympathetic look before she says, “I’m sure it wasn’t you. Eleanor’s been hoping Louis would notice her for _weeks_.”

Harry frowns. “It’s okay,” he says. “It was fun while it lasted.”

He stands, and Sophia follows, walking over to give him a sweet hug goodbye before waving him off. Harry’s gone before Liam finishes with the fire, and once he looks up through the billowing smoke, he realizes it’s just the two of them alone. “Want me to walk you home?” he offers.

Sophia shrugs. She’s been hoping to be noticed by Liam for years - ever since they met back in year eight - and now they’re alone and they’ve had just enough to drink that she’d probably go anywhere or do anything with him. “D’you want to just like… watch a movie or something?” she offers. “We can go to my place, my parents won’t mind.”

Liam hadn’t ever considered that Sophia would want to hang out with him one-on-one; he’d never been the popular kid at school, or the most handsome by any stretch of the imagination, but she’s gorgeous. She always has been. He’s surprised by the invitation, but finds himself nodding despite his hesitation. “Yeah, let’s do it,” he agrees, before he can consider all the ways this could go badly, like he usually does.

He lets himself go with it, and if he puts an arm around Sophia’s shoulder on the walk to her house, it’s only because she’s cold. Really.

\+ + +

Harry stands nervously in the bathroom, fixing his hair for the hundredth time. “It looks the same as it did before: absolutely fine,” Gemma says for the millionth time. She’s been waiting in the doorway for _forever_ , reassuring Harry, but also hoping her brother will just get out of the way so she can actually _use_ the bathroom. But he’s nervous, and she’s the sympathetic big sister, so she doesn’t actually kick him out.

His cheeks are flushed and he turns to her, looking distressed. “Are you sure this is okay?” he asks.

And which part he’s referring to, she’s not quite sure. At this point, it doesn’t matter. Saying anything other than _yes_ will prove disastrous, so she just nods and says, “Yes, I’m sure it’s okay. You’re ready.” She hesitates though, and quirks an eyebrow as she asks, “When is this date, again?”

“Um… in ten minutes,” Harry mumbles.

Gemma checks her phone and then says, “But it’s almost half ten. At night. Normal people sleep.”

Harry shrugs. “I dunno why the date is so late,” he explains. “All I know is Nick said he’d be here at 10:30 p.m. He wouldn’t tell me anything else.”

“Sounds awfully suspicious to me,” Gemma mumbles.

Harry looks concerned and affronted, and he reaches out for his sister, holding her forearms desperately as he asks, “Do you really think he’s that bad?”

Gemma frowns when she takes in the sight of her brother. Harry’s been nervous all day, so much so that he could hardly eat anything, and he’s changed his outfit at least half a dozen times. He’s finally settled for jeans and a black polo with his converse, and she talked him into wearing his leather jacket with woolen collar to keep him warm. The nights aren’t as comfortable as they used to be; it’s fall now. He looks quite handsome, and even though she’s skeptical that things will work out, given how old Nick is compared to Harry, she wants to be supportive. “No, I don’t,” she admits, “It’s just… I’m your big sister. I’m meant to worry.”

“He’s really great, I promise,” Harry insists. “You can meet him sometime.”

Gemma nods, because she doesn’t see this relationship going that for, but she doesn’t want to discourage Harry. She’s had her fair share of heartbreak, and even though she wants to hope things will go well for Harry, a voice in the back of her mind is telling her not to get her hopes up on this one. When the doorbell rings, Harry pales. “Go get it!” Gemma says, grinning at Harry to hopefully boost his spirits. “Have fun!”

Harry walks out of the bathroom and towards the stairs, and he tries to pretend he doesn’t hear Gemma calling after him to use a condom. His sister should absolutely not be involved in his sex life at all. Or even worried about it.

When he steps out the door, there’s Nick, standing on the front porch in dark jeans and a leather jacket, his hair perfectly coiffed and a bright smile on his face. “Hey, love,” he greets him.

Harry smiles back and he replies, “Hello, Nick.”

Nick wraps him up into a hug, his arms warm and comforting around Harry’s shoulders, and Harry’s suddenly not so nervous. He doesn’t even know why he was nervous in the first place, because it’s only Nick. They’re so familiar now, so trusting of each other. Harry puts his own arms around Nick’s waist and burrows close to him for a moment, smiling into Nick’s jacket, before he eases away, eager to begin the date.

They walk to Nick’s car and Harry feels jittery again, though this time it’s all excitement and no nerves. Nick speeds through town like he owns it, knowing every street name, every hole in the road to avoid while he’s driving - he’s conditioned to living in this place, and Harry likes it. It makes him feel at home. Harry’s confused as they pull into a car park, because he’s never been to this place before. “Where are we?” he asks as he steps out of the car, looking around with wide eyes.

Nick just smiles and leads him toward the building. Harry briefly glances at the door - it’s a radio station - and that’s when he realizes: they’re at Nick’s workplace. Harry’s never been in a radio station before, and he’s quite excited to see one. He follows Nick inside, looking around with awe as they go down corridors and past dark rooms, and suddenly it hits Harry - “Where is everyone?”

Nick turns over his shoulder and smiles at Harry. “We don’t air around the clock. Usually at night we patch over to some national network,” he explains. “We’re the only ones here.”

Harry’s smile is bright as Nick brings him into his little tiny office, a cubicle in the back corner of a basement room where no light gets in. It’s definitely Nick’s desk though, covered in photos of his friends and plenty of CDs. He’s got an old Macbook - so old it’s still _white_ rather than the new silver ones - and he props it open on the desk. Then he pulls out the chair at the desk next to his and says to Harry, “Have a seat.”

It’s a tiny, cramped space with barely enough room for the chairs to move, but Harry’s never been happier. Nick’s obviously put a lot of work into this date. Harry sits in the uncomfortable rolling desk chair and Nick sits in his own, and he switches on some music on his laptop. Harry likes the first song, the acoustic hum of the guitar, the soothing voices piping through, and he can’t stop smiling no matter how badly he might want to. Except he really doesn’t want to. For as dorky as he feels, smiling so much, he also really wants Nick to know how much this means to him.

It’s the best first date Harry could have ever asked for, and it’s barely gotten started yet.

Nick digs under his desk and finds an old TV tray, one he keeps down there for when he’s eating at his desk, to prop up next to him since he hasn’t got the space on his actual desk because, well, it’s a tiny office. Local radio stations don’t often have much room for staff. Apparently he’s lucky to even have a desk. He sets the TV tray up between himself and Harry, and then pulls out his lunch box. He wishes he’d had something nicer to carry the food in, but as it is, he’s a bartender and he’s on the local radio and he hasn’t got much money to spare, even between both jobs. Not when he’s living on his own and trying to live above his means, to project more success than he’s got.

He pulls out a Milk Tray and a bottle of cheap red wine, and he takes his time uncorking it. Nick likes the way Harry’s eyes are fixed on him, even though there’s a lot of new stuff around him that his eyes drift to. In the end, Harry’s always got his focus back on Nick, and it’s the most endearing thing Nick’s ever experienced. He’s met guys who’ve idolized him, mainly because he’s older but acts younger, but Harry’s the first to _appreciate_ him this way.

Nick pours them each some wine into the mismatched glasses he’s got on his desk, and then hands one cup to Harry. “To you, darling Harry,” Nick says smoothly, a big toothy grin on his face.

Harry’s cheeks redden and he bites his lower lip as he smiles. He can’t believe he’s so lucky.

They toast their glasses and take a sip, and Nick will be the first to admit that it’s not the best wine he’s ever had, but it’s also not the worst. Harry seems to like it, in any case, and that’s good enough for him. Nick opens the chocolates and tosses the lid out of the way. “Hey!” Harry protests. “How’m I supposed to know which chocolate is which?”

Nick laughs. “That’s part of the fun, love. Try them and see.” He hesitates and then asks, “Unless you’re allergic?”

Harry chuckles and shakes his head. “No, I’m not.” He reaches out for the chocolate in the very center of the box and brings it to his lips slowly. He looks hesitant as he bites into the corner of it, and when he pulls away a bite, he smiles. “Oh, it’s just a caramel,” he says.

He takes a bigger bite - a proper half of the caramel is gone now - and he holds out the other half to Nick to feed it to him. Nick raises an eyebrow, but he’s smirking like he’s pleased that Harry wants to feed him chocolates, and he takes the other half of the candy into his mouth, his lips brushing Harry’s fingers.

“Are we going to get in trouble for being in here?” Harry asks, such an innocent look in his eyes.

Nick smiles and shakes his head. “No. As long as we don’t destroy anything, we’re good,” he says.

That reassures Harry, and they spend the better part of an hour feeding each other chocolates, sipping wine, and listening to the playlist that Nick’s put together. It’s the greatest hour of Harry’s life, he’d say without a doubt, and he knows the night is just getting started. Nick’s a night owl, he’s surely got more planned than just chocolates and wine.

“I really like this music,” Harry says as he finishes off his glass of wine.

The red wine has tinted his lips an even darker pink than the were before, and he’s flushed just in the apples of his cheeks from the alcohol. He looks cherubic and beautiful, and Nick can’t keep his eyes off him. He can barely manage to keep his hands to himself. “I’m glad,” Nick confesses, folding up the TV tray now that they’re done with it. His own wine was long gone, and they’ve finished off the bottle between the two of them. “It’s a playlist I put together for you,” he explains, “They’re my favourites… I hoped you’d like them.”

“I love them,” Harry insists, a smile on his face. “Can I have a copy of the playlist?”

Nick fumbles on his desk for a moment and then holds out a CD case. He looks a bit shy as he explains, “I made one already… just in case.”

Harry’s eyes light up and he positively beams at Nick. He’d never tell anyone, but he’s always thought that the ultimate sign of caring for someone you’re in a relationship with is giving them a mix of music. There’s nothing quite like having shared musical interests, or showing someone the type of music that really speaks to you. Harry’s always thought that music says so much more about a person than they realize.

“Thank you,” Harry says, taking the CD and staring at it like it’s a million dollar prize. He looks up at Nick, still flushed and happy, and leans in for a soft kiss. Nick’s surprised by the gesture, but he likes it. He steals one more kiss as Harry’s leaning away, just because he can. “Best boyfriend ever,” Harry whispers, still grinning.

And _god_ , even just hearing Harry call him his boyfriend does funny things to Nick, makes his heart pound wildly in his ribcage, makes his whole body feel like this is exactly where he’s meant to be: in this moment, with this person. Now that he’s got Harry in his life, as his boyfriend, he never wants to let him go. He wants to make this special for Harry, the way it feels special for him.

He _wants_ him, totally and completely, but he’d be willing to go to the ends of the earth and wait until the end of days for him.

Nick hasn’t been so gone for someone since - well, it’s been a while.

“And um… speaking of music,” Harry says awkwardly, like he’s unsure of how to make the transition. “I… well, you know I like music - like, writing and singing and stuff -” Nick nods. “I wrote you a song?” Harry explains, the words coming out more like a question than a statement.

With a big grin on his face, Nick sits up a little taller and asks, “Did you really? Can I hear it?”

Harry nods. He points to his computer and says, “Pull up YouTube.”

“It’s on YouTube? Where anyone can find it?” Nick asks.

“I guess,” Harry shrugs. “But nobody has. Just… here.”

He reaches out for the Macbook, and Nick puts it on the now-empty TV tray so Harry can type his channel into YouTube and pull up the video. When he does, he turns it to Nick and says, “When you’re ready, just press play.”

Harry’s cheeks are flushed bright red and he looks incredibly nervous. Nick finds it more endearing than he should, this he knows, but he finds himself smiling fondly anyway, and reaching out to click the play button. Then he reaches over for Harry’s hand, holding it there on the table while they listen.

_People say we shouldn't be together_  
_We're too young to know about forever_  
_But I say they don't know what they’re talk, talk, talkin' about_

_'Cause this love is only getting stronger_  
_So I don't wanna wait any longer_  
_I just wanna tell the world that you're mine…_

The song goes on, the chorus fitting the title perfectly: “They Don’t Know About Us.” Nick is enthralled in the video, watching as Harry plays the electric keyboard in his bedroom, his eyes closed as he sings each word from memory, and he doesn’t look away until the final chord rings out. “Harry…” Nick begins, but he can’t find the words. Not yet.

He looks up at Harry, whose whole face is red and he’s chewing his lower lip looking highly unsure of himself. Nick closes the laptop and hastily fumbles his TV tray out of the way so he can reach out for Harry properly, to pull him closer and really show him how much it meant to him, to hear that. Nick feels like he can’t quite breathe yet, the gesture knocking the wind out of him, and he’s so pleased when he’s finally got everything out of the way and pulling Harry into his lap. Harry sits, his head ducked down, and Nick holds his waist as he says, “I don’t even know what to say, love. That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Harry’s lovely green eyes turn and catch Nick’s gaze right away. He looks so worried, but Nick’s smile is infectious, and before long the dimples are back and the relaxation floods back into Harry’s whole body, down to his bones. “Come here, Haz,” Nick whispers, reaching up to pull Harry’s face nearer to his.

Harry sighs into it, his eyes fluttering closed as their lips meet, and he brings one of his hands up to cup Nick’s cheek gently. He could stay like this forever, he’s pretty sure, because Nick’s wonderful and makes him feel lighter than air and like he’s got the whole world in his hands as long as they’re together. He gives Harry a tightness in his chest that he loves, a feeling of being totally engulfed and surrounded and yet free as a bird all at once.

Nick makes Harry feel more alive than he’s ever felt before.

When Nick pulls away for air, Harry whines, a keening sound coming from his throat before he can hold it back. His cheeks flush and he bites his lip as he senses Nick’s smile, feels it against his lips before he opens his eyes and sees it. “What are we going to do now?” Harry asks, his voice soft and tender.

Nick’s arms weave tighter around Harry’s waist, keeping him seated firm and steady on his lap, and he nuzzles his neck as he says, “I thought we could go back to mine, have a proper lie-in. I’ll even make brekkie.”

“Aww,” Harry coos, the smile wide on his face again at how adorable a gesture Nick’s idea is.

He’s never had anyone other than his family make him breakfast. Something about it seems so domestic and settled and yet incredibly romantic. It’s overwhelming, the amount of adoration Harry feels in Nick’s every touch, every gesture. “I like that idea,” he smiles, his fingers playing with the short hairs at the nape of Nick’s neck as he keeps nuzzling him, the moment slow and still.

Harry’s eyes flutter closed and his smile drops when he feels Nick press a kiss to his pulse point, the soft touch shooting a shiver down his spine. Harry’s fingers thread tightly into Nick’s hair, and Nick pauses. This is new territory, and it feels precarious but sure, like this is where things are meant to go even if they’re both incredibly nervous. “Harry,” he whispers into his warm skin. “I want to take you home. Now. If that’s alright with you.”

Words escaping him, Harry just nods and takes a moment to find his breath before he stands up, reluctantly separating himself from Nick. He feels flushed, feels like his whole body is on fire, his knees a bit shaky under his weight. He hadn’t been expecting anything so simple and innocent to make him feel so much, but it has, and Harry’s flushed and desperate for Nick in a way he hasn’t felt before. He’s relieved when the empty wine bottle and Milk Tray are left on Nick’s desk in favour of a quicker exit.

Nick holds Harry’s hand the entire time he leads him out of the building, and then on the drive back to his house, and they only separate when they’re back at Nick’s and begin to slowly undress each other. It’s the most terrifying thing Harry ever does in his life, so intimate and vulnerable for his very first time. His hair’s a mess after he pulls off his polo shirt, and it takes him ages to open the fly on his jeans, but when he looks across the way at Nick, who’s just as exposed as Harry is, it’s easier. They’re in it together.

Nick holds Harry’s hands when they fall naked onto his bed, and then when he’s got one hand occupied, prepping Harry, peppering little kisses all over his stomach and hips and thighs. Harry can hardly hear a thing over the heavy beat of his heart, each thrum echoing in his ears because it’s all so much, _too_ much, but so perfect all at the same time. Nick’s so warm and sweet and gentle - it’s almost more than Harry’s heart can take.

When Nick’s kneeling over Harry, their legs tangled and their lips kissed deep red, he’s still got their fingers tangled together on the bed next to them. Harry squeezes his hand when he feels Nick pressing in, and again when the stretch turns to pleasure, and never before have they felt so close, so connected, with each other or anybody else. Harry’s whimpering and panting and his lips lazily brush Nick’s, their fingers squeezing tight as Nick fucks Harry into the mattress, each move sweet and gentle and romantic but frantic in its own way. Harry wants _moremoremore_ but wants to take his time, wants Nick surrounding his senses and giving him this first - this experience that he knows he’s never going to forget.

It feels like it takes no time at all before Harry’s legs are wound tight around Nick’s waist and he’s whimpering, moaning that he’s close. Nick nods, kisses Harry’s shoulder, collarbone, neck, and then feels the pleasure hitting Harry before he hears it. Harry squeezes his hand, every muscle in his body tense and overcome with the wave of white-hot pleasure like he’s never felt before. His mouth’s dropped open and he gasps, but his breath catches and doesn’t moan - he can’t moan - because it’s so, so much. Nick clutches Harry close to him, feeling the mess between their bodies, and in seconds joins him, soft and sweaty and sated. “That was perfect, Nick,” Harry whispers into his shoulder, his hands trembling where he’s clutching at Nick’s shoulders, hand forgotten as Nick needs them both to balance, to slide out of Harry.

They’re a mess, and Nick wants so badly to clean up right now, but Harry’s just gone and said those words and he’s staring at Nick all doe-eyed and innocent and it’s more than Nick can resist. He lies down on the bed and puts his arm around Harry’s shoulder, pulling him to his chest. Harry’s trembling, and Nick kisses his shoulder, his cheek, the tip of his nose, and he whispers back, “Good. I happen to like you quite a lot.”

Harry smiles fondly, his eyes drooping shut with tiredness as he says, “And I like you even more.”

The tiredness is hitting them both now, and Nick doesn’t want to get out of bed, the exhaustion having crept into his bones. He uses a tissue from the bedside table to wipe the mess off their stomachs, and as they’re curling up, Harry’s back to Nick’s front, Nick promises they can shower together in the morning, before breakfast.

It’s the best night of Harry’s life, and he’s not sure anything will top it.

He’s not sure he _wants_ anything to top it.

As he falls asleep, he dreams of their night, repeating over and over again in his head, because there’s nothing quite like it, and nothing, he thinks, will ever beat it.

\+ + +

Louis and Liam are boredly walking down the sidewalk, the chill of September air thick around them, settling into their bones. They’re walking toward Zayn’s place when it happens, when Liam says the words that sour Louis’s whole day. Louis isn’t prepared - though he never really would be. Louis doesn’t like change, so he’s certainly not going to expect it.

“I’m starting school soon.”

Liam drops the words like a bomb, blowing Louis’s good mood to shreds as soon as the words find him in the brisk autumn wind. Louis stops, right there on the sidewalk, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his faded denim jacket. He stares after Liam, who takes a few strides before he realizes Louis has stopped. When he spins on his heel, he’s faced with the angriest expression he’s ever seen.

Sheepishly, Liam says, “You knew I was thinking about it.”

“But you never told me you got it.”

Liam shrugs, “I just found out.”

Louis scowls and stomps past Liam. He hates this. Liam’s his best friend, he can’t fuck off and make a good life for himself without Louis. They’ve been inseparable for as long as Louis can remember. Liam’s been his best friend for his whole life.

“I can’t believe you’re just going to ditch me like that.”

“Louis -,”

Liam looks disappointed, like a kicked puppy who wants to be forgiven even though he’s done nothing wrong. Not really. Not when Louis knew he was applying to an apprenticeship as a builder. Louis had been the one to sit down and work through the application with him, even. Liam hadn’t wanted to sit idly by in his parents’ house like Louis seems content to do; finishing A-levels meant going on to school in order to get full time work, means becoming a fully-fledged adult. Liam accepts the responsibility, and hopes one day Louis will, too.

“It’s fine,” Louis says, though it’s not fine at all. He looks over at Liam, who’s had to jog to catch up. “Like you said. I knew you were thinking about it.”

But that look on Liam’s face isn’t going away. He looks pouty and hurt. Louis hates it, and has to look away. Liam’s big, brown, “please forgive me” eyes are more than Louis is prepared to look at. He wants to have a proper strop about his best friend going away without him.

“I won’t be gone all that much,” Liam protests. “I promise! It’s one day a week of courses and then I’ve just got to go do building. That’s all an apprenticeship is.”

“You’ll be away during the day,” Louis argues. “You’ll be gone all day doing courses or building houses or hospitals or whatever it is you people build, and I’ll barely see you at all.”

Liam frowns and begs, “Please don’t be mad.”

Louis pauses again, and looks over at Liam. The distress on Liam’s face is clear; he’d never meant to hurt Louis, would never dream of it in a million universes. Louis sighs and looks down at his feet whilst Liam stands there feeling guilty. Louis hates that he gets this way, so defensive and mean, but he’s not ready to say goodbye to Liam, not even just for some full time work. They’re supposed to be able to run around or ride their bikes or have a kickabout and not have to worry about adult things.

Except that time in their lives has passed - Liam’s embracing it, but Louis isn’t ready yet.

Louis feels defective because, well, he’s honestly not sure if he’ll ever be ready.

“Sorry, Leemo,” he mumbles.

Liam reaches out for Louis, pulls him into a big hug, and the guilt in Louis’s gut swells and fills him up, overwhelms him, because this isn’t how this was supposed to go. He’s sure it’s not how Liam imagined it going. Except maybe he did, because he knows Louis better than Louis knows himself sometimes. “I’m going to miss you too, Louis,” Liam mumbles into the collar of Louis’s jacket as he hugs him.

Louis knots his fingers in Liam’s hoodie, holds him tight, and he tries to adjust to the idea of Liam not being around anymore. He blinks furiously, hating himself for getting emotional at the thought. It’s just -

Liam’s the one who was there when Mark and Louis’s mum got divorced when Louis was a teenager. That had crushed him more than anything, more than his birth dad wanting back into his life, wanting to force Louis to have some sort of friendship with his half-sister whom he’d never met. Liam had been there for Louis when he was doubting himself in school, pushed him to finish his A-Levels in case he wanted to go on to uni someday. He patted Louis’s back and told him it was alright to put off submitting his application to uni for another year. And then another. Liam’s the one who’s seen Louis at his worst - the _only_ person, excepting his mother - and saying goodbye to someone that important, even temporarily, isn’t something Louis thinks he’s got the capacity to do right now.

Though with Liam, he’s not sure he’ll _ever_ be ready for such a thing.

Louis sniffles and blessedly, Liam says nothing. He just claps Louis on the shoulder and turns right. They’re meant to go straight. As it turns out, Liam took the detour on purpose, giving Louis time to blink away the tears and let the nicotine of a cigarette calm him before they find themselves on the porch of Zayn’s house. It’s a tiny shack of a thing, something he’d gotten for himself and Perrie once he was old enough.

He likes his family, and he gets along with them great, but being an adult meant Zayn wanted the freedom. He wanted to be his own man, make his own way, and sure, he never imagined he’d be selling weed and other harder drugs to get it, but it’s something. Everyone’s got to start somewhere, and all that.

Zayn’s out on the porch waiting for Louis and Liam, and when they get there, he gives them each a hug. “Alright, mate?” Zayn asks.

“Yeah, you?” Louis replies.

His voice still sounds a bit thin, but Zayn doesn’t say a word about it. He just holds up a spliff in offer and they settle in on the porch. Zayn’s got mismatched plastic chairs and nothing else - most of his furniture is old and uncomfortable - but he and Perrie are independent and happy and they couldn’t ask for more, really. Louis likes having somewhere to go that won’t have parents swarming them. Sometimes adults get a bit stifling. He figures that’s part of why he doesn’t want to be one.

They smoke in silence for a bit, and then Liam tells Zayn that he’s gotten the apprenticeship, and Louis takes that opportunity to go inside and get them each a beer from Zayn’s sparsely stocked fridge. When he returns, Liam looks terrified and Zayn’s taking drags from the spliff like it’s going out of style.

“What?” Louis asks cluelessly.

He hands out the beers and glances between Liam and Zayn.

“I think you ought to sit down,” Liam warns, nodding at Louis’s vacant chair.

Slowly, Louis lowers himself to the chair where it’s situated to Liam’s right, Zayn’s left. “What the fuck is going on you guys?” Louis asks. He hopes like hell that it’s nothing that will kill his high. He’s feeling quite good at the moment.

Louis tips back his head and drinks down nearly half his bottle of beer in one go. He figures he probably needs it, even though he hasn’t got a clue what’s coming. It might be good news, for all he knows. Except Liam looks like somebody’s just died, so. Probably not.

“I was just telling Liam that I’ve gotten accepted into uni. I’m starting an art program soon,” he explains gently. Like gentleness will keep Louis from getting wound up or something.

Louis purses his lips and pointedly looks straight ahead, avoiding both Zayn and Liam’s hesitant gazes. “Oh.”

He takes another pull of beer, and then another, and then the bottle’s empty and he’s setting it down on the porch. “Well. Good for you lot,” he says, trying his best to sound amicable. He doesn’t. “When do you start?”

“A couple weeks,” Zayn says. “I fucked around during my A-Levels so I had to do clearing, but Colchester took me so now… I’m starting. A year later than I should be, at nineteen, but still.”

Louis’s knee is bouncing, he’s itching for another cigarette, but he knows they know it’s his angry tick. He keeps himself from reaching for the pack in the breast pocket of his jacket out of principle. They can’t know he’s angry. They already do, but it’s easier for Louis if they don’t. He’s grateful they pretend.

“Will you be living there, then?”

Zayn shakes his head. “Nah. I’ve got this place with Perrie. Don’t want to leave.”

Louis nods. It’s something. He’s not too fond of the idea, still, but he’ll take it.

“See?” Liam says, though he sounds terrified to be speaking. “You’re not losing us. We’ll just have class and work and stuff.”

“And what will I have?”

Louis stands up. He doesn’t want their sympathy, or their gentle words. He knows they mean well but Louis is not equipped to handle this. Liam, he maybe could have, with enough parties and booze and fucking. Liam and Zayn both? They’re his closest friends. Harry’s got Nick so if Louis doesn’t have Liam and Zayn, then who _does_ he have?

He’s feeling overwhelmed at the thought, so he stands abruptly and says, “Best of luck boys. I’ve got to be getting home.”

“But Louis -!” Liam begins to protest.

“Seriously, Liam, it’s fine, I’ve just got to get home,” Louis lies. “I forgot I’d promised mum I’d make dinner.”

It’s too late for Louis to get home and make a proper dinner, and they’re all three aware, but Zayn and Liam don’t argue to the contrary. They just let Louis walk away. He waits until he’s out of sight before he pulls out his carton of cigarettes, and he chain smokes them the entire way home.

Harry can sense something’s wrong with Louis, even from all the way across the street. He’d been out on the front porch watering the potted plants when he’d seen Louis storming down the block and straight to his backyard. From that point on, Louis has been smoking almost constantly, drawing in and exhaling like he’s breathing nicotine, like he needs the cigarettes to survive, rather than the oxygen. He’s seen Louis cough up a storm at it, and then light up another one. Even from where he’s trying to hide, back in the little cove of trees at the corner of the lot, Harry sees him.

“Hey mum?” Harry says as he clambers through the front door, just for a second.

“Yeah, love?” she calls from the dining room.

Harry adjusts the beanie on his head and shouts, “I’m going to see Louis! Dunno when I’ll be back!”

She appears in the corridor to look at him just as he’s stepping back out the door, and she looks a bit sad as she says, “I saw him over there, the poor dear. Take care of him, love.” She hands Harry a few mugs of tea and waves as he leaves.

Dutifully, Harry rushes out of the house. He tries to gather his composure, to act like he didn’t just sprint out of his house, before he gets to where Louis is sitting in a dirty, torn-up campfire chair. He’s got his knees to his chest and there’s empty cigarette boxes and plenty of cigarette butts surrounding him on the ground below. He’s got another perched between his fingers and he looks a wreck. “Louis?”

Harry’s voice nearly startles Louis out of his skin. He drops his cigarette and hisses when the lit end burns a hole through the thin fabric of his trackies. “What’re you doing here?” he asks defensively, looking bitterly upset that he’s been found.

Without answering, Harry grabs a chair and pulls it up next to where Louis is sitting. Even though the scent of cigarette smoke is surrounding them from every angle, Harry still takes care not to sit in the direct flow of the smoke from the lit cigarette in Louis’s hand. He’s gotten horribly used to Louis’s habit, over the course of two months, and he has yet to decide how he feels about it. Harry sits down next to Louis and says, “I came to cheer you up.”

“Who says I need cheering up?” Louis asks casually as he brings the cigarette to his lips again.

He inhales deeply and Harry hears him try to hide a cough. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t draw attention to it. Harry knows Louis would hate that. Instead, he just replies, “I think you’ve sort of given yourself away, mate.” Harry gestures to the piles of proof that Louis has been chain smoking all afternoon, and then looks up at Louis worriedly. “What happened?” he asks softly.

Louis shakes his head and looks fiercely down at the ground. He doesn’t particularly want to talk about it, would rather just make tense faces at the dirt all day than open up about anything to anyone. He’s not particularly fond of people knowing what gets him down; somewhere deep inside Louis’s worried that someone will use it against him one day. Instead, he just asks, “So you and Nick, huh?”

“Stop trying to change the subject,” Harry says quickly.

“Answer the fucking question,” Louis snaps back.

Harry sighs. He’s gotten incredibly good at reading Louis, but at the same time he feels like he still doesn’t have a clue what’s going on in his head. His shoulders slump before he answers Louis with, “Yeah, me and Nick. What about it? You already knew. You’ve known since that night at the bar.”

“I mean you’re still together,” Louis says. “I didn’t think he’d keep you around so long.”

Harry bites his lip worriedly. “Does he not usually stay with people very long?” he asks.

Louis exhales out his nose this time, smoke swirling from his nostrils pointedly in Harry’s direction. Harry has to look away, his eyes watering from the smoke. It’s entirely the smoke’s fault, he swears. Not the fact that maybe Nick’s not faithful, that Louis probably knows something terrible about Nick that he ought to know but doesn’t. Not the fact that in his moments of sadness, Louis is choosing to lash out at Harry and hurt him.

“He’s just… fickle,” Louis says eventually. His eyes linger on Harry, who’s just taken up Louis’s habit of gazing down at the dirt like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. “Would you settle down?” Louis huffs. “He’s clearly into you, he’s not going to cheat.”

“But he might dump me.”

Louis shakes his head. “Not you,” he replies. “He likes you too much.”

Harry doesn’t look so sure. He’s not entirely positive how exactly Louis managed to turn the tables and give himself the upper hand, make Louis the one trying to placate Harry rather than it being the other way around.

It’s quiet - too quiet - but Harry doesn’t know what to say. He’s trying to choke back the fear and uncertainty that Louis has planted deep within him, the doubts about Nick’s fidelity, about his feelings. He knows he has no right to think Nick would ever hurt him - that Nick’s given him no proof - but Harry’s young and he’s still getting to know people, still learning to trust them. Louis has known Nick for much longer, and he probably knows him better. He _undoubtedly_ knows him better.

Louis sighs dramatically and sits up, stamping out another cigarette butt into the soil. He rolls his eyes as he looks over at Harry and says, “Look - just forget I said anything, alright? He’s madly in love with you, you’re madly in love with him, it works out.” Louis ignores the maddening ache in his chest as he says that.

Harry’s still quiet, and he feels sort of garbled, like he’s forgotten the whole reason he came over in the first place. Louis has a horrible habit of turning him all out of sorts, unsettling Harry. It’s strange, but Harry already misses the Louis he met when he’d moved to Colchester. That Louis was so sweet, and so mischievous, but not at all hurtful. He hopes it’s just a phase.

They sit in silence and Harry notices that Louis isn’t lighting up another cigarette. It’s the first time in hours. It’s just then that Harry remembers his mum sent him over with tea, and he holds out one of the travel mugs he’d brought. Louis wrinkles his nose, but Harry just insists, “My mum makes great tea, I promise.”

Louis tips the mug to his lips and takes a gulp. He doesn’t say anything, just takes another drink, and Harry figures he’s passed the test. He relaxes with his own mug of tea and looks up, studying Louis. He doesn’t want to push for more answers, doesn’t want to ask Louis a question that might set him off and ruin things for them entirely. Harry just sits in silent solidarity, there as support for Louis during whatever it is that he’s going through.

He hears the crackling of the leaves falling to the ground, the buzz of a car driving past on the road between their houses, the slight wind rustling through the trees - Harry would feel far more content if he wasn’t so worried about what’s happening in Louis’s head. This kind of silence is probably dangerous, Harry realizes.

Finally, _finally_ , Louis speaks. When he does, his voice is softer, more timid than Harry’s ever heard before, and Louis pointedly avoids eye contact the entire time.

“You’re not going to fuck off to uni too, are you?”

Harry looks up quickly at the sound of Louis’s voice, frown etched deep on his face, brows furrowed. And that’s when he realizes. Other people are. “Of course not,” Harry promises. “Might get a job and have to worry about that, but I’m not going to leave. I just got here. Besides, I dunno what I’d study at uni.”

Louis snorts. “I mean like - Leemo’s not leaving entirely, either, but he’s got coursework and an apprenticeship now, apparently,” Louis shrugs noncommitally, mumbling into the rim of his mug. “Zayn’s going to have his stupid courses at Colchester, and all that homework… I’m not going to have anyone to see, really.”

“You’ll have me,” Harry promises.

At that, Louis rolls his eyes. “Yes, sort of. But you’ll have a job. And Nick,” Louis argues.

There it is, Harry thinks. He’s being argumentative again. Things are back to normal. Harry sighs and says, “I promise, we’ll have plenty of time together.”

Louis just looks up at Harry, his blue eyes more honest and earnest than they’ve been all afternoon, and he says softly, “We’d better.”

Harry smiles in what he hopes is a comforting way, and he doesn’t leave Louis’s side for the rest of the evening.

\+ + +

Harry’s grinning when he shows up at Nick’s flat the next weekend, all innocent and cherubic and so, so sweet. He brings cookies that he’s baked, deciding to randomly surprise Nick the way Nick surprised Harry with an invitation to come over. His cheeks are flushed when Nick opens the door, and he holds up the covered plate of cookies as he says, “Hi.”

Nick smiles but it never quite reaches his eyes. “Hi, come in,” he says, stepping back to let Harry in.

Harry raises an eyebrow because Nick looks nervous, out of sorts. It worries him and instantly sets him on edge. He places the cookies down on the counter and walks over to Nick to wrap him up in a big, spidery-limbed hug. Nick melts into it, eyes closed and his clammy hands holding Harry tight to his chest, like he’s trying to protect him. “Hiya,” he says softly into Harry’s shoulder.

The hug doesn’t feel right, though. It isn’t what Harry’s used to, and it sets him on edge. “What’s the matter?” Harry asks, eyebrow raised as he leans back.

Nick looks like he’s worried himself sick, or like maybe he really is sick. Harry can’t tell. His thoughts fly all over the place, from worrying that something’s happened to Pig to wanting to ask if he should make him some soup, and every possibility in between. Nick’s quiet and it’s unsettling, Harry’s not used to such silence from his boyfriend, and he lets Nick take his hand and lead him away. “Nick, you’re worrying me,” Harry says as he’s led to the sofa in the lounge.

When they sit down, Harry can see the lines of worry in Nick’s brow, can feel how clammy his hand is, and he doesn’t like where this is going.

“Harry, I -,” Nick begins. He looks up with a pleading look in his eye and Harry’s got his big, green eyes fixed on him with increasing concern.

Their hands are still linked between them, Nick’s nervous, damp hand covered by both of Harry’s. He’s using one hand to rub the back of Nick’s, to ease him and comfort him, which makes Nick feel even worse. What’s about to happen means he doesn’t deserve such kindness - Harry should hate him. He _will_ hate him, once he hears what Nick has to say. His earnestness makes it even harder for Nick to say it, to put everything out there.

“Harry, I got a job offer in London,” Nick blurts out. He’s watching Harry closely, for any signs that he should stop talking, but Harry just looks confused. “I’m leaving. I’m moving to London, and…”

“It’s okay, I can come visit,” Harry says urgently, a worried look on his face. He tries to force a smile but it doesn’t happen because as soon as Nick spoke he felt like his entire chest was knotting, like suddenly he could hardly breathe and the butterflies had died right there in his stomach. “I’ll take the train out, I’ve got a job! I’ll visit you on the weekends or when you get holidays, and it’ll be great.”

Harry knows where this is going, knew it as soon as Nick said he was moving. But he doesn’t want to break up - he’s too happy with Nick to let this fall apart so easily. He’s terrified that it’s not enough, that offering to go into London all the time isn’t going to be what it takes to keep Nick from dumping him. Harry’s fairly certain that if he doesn’t let Nick say it, he’ll be able to prove it to him before it happens. He wants them to stay together. He knows they can do it.

“It’s not that easy,” Nick sighs. He’s frowning now, and squeezing Harry’s hand just a little. “I don’t think it’s going to work. I really care about you, but…”

Harry lunges forward, awkwardly crashing his lips to Nick’s, like if he cuts him off before he dumps him, then it won’t happen, that he can stop it from happening. Harry feels the wetness welling at the corners of his eyes as he does it, too, and he hates that he’s gotten so emotional when Nick hasn’t even said it yet - when he doesn’t know whether he’s even going to do it. Harry releases Nick’s hand and reaches up to put his hands on either side of Nick’s face. He’s got his shoulders scrunched and he slides his lips against Nick’s like they’ve done a hundred times before.

Only this time feels more desperate, more final, and Harry hates it. The butterflies are gone and now he’s filled with dread, and it’s a terrible mix of good and bad between his gut feeling and the way Nick’s hands and lips on his body make him feel. “Harry,” Nick breathes between kisses, as their lips glide together between heavy breaths.

Harry climbs into Nick’s lap, straddles him, and whispers, “Please don’t.”

Nick gives into it just a while longer, his own heart aching that he needs to do this, but he knows it’s what’s best for them. Harry’s only eighteen; he can’t hold him back, can’t expect him to give up his weekends to go out to London to visit him. He holds Harry gently, hands rubbing up and down his back, and he only breaks away when he realizes his cheeks are wet. Nick leans away and brushes at his own cheeks before realizing they’re Harry’s tears he’s wiping away.

“Harry, no, please,” Nick pleads. “Don’t cry.”

“What else am I supposed to do? You’re breaking up with me,” Harry says with despair, looking down at his lap, humiliated that he couldn’t hold back the tears.

He moves to climb off of Nick’s lap but Nick holds him there in place. “Harry, please don’t cry,” he begs. He feels terrible now, sick to his stomach like before, but ten times as awful like he doesn’t think he’s ever going to feel well again. He places his hands gently on Harry’s cheeks and uses his thumbs to wipe away the tears. “I’m sorry. It’s just… you’re young.”

“That never mattered before,” Harry argues.

“I just mean… you’re too young to be tied down to someone, to be traveling all the way to London just to see me,” Nick explains. “You deserve better.”

Harry shakes his head, his unruly curls sloshing about. “No I don’t. I want to do it. I want to be with you,” Harry begs. “Please, Nick. Don’t do this.”

Nick frowns and he wants like hell to give Harry what he wants, but he can’t. He knows it’s not right, and the last thing he wants is to give in only to have Harry resent him someday. He doesn’t think he could handle that. The thought of that is even more painful than the tears sliding down Harry’s cheeks and the way he looks so absolutely heartbroken.

Choked up and feeling guilty, Nick looks down and says, his voice weak, “We can’t be together, Harry. Not right now.”

An audible sob escapes Harry’s mouth and he climbs off of Nick like he’s been burned. He keeps his head down, doesn’t look at Nick, who’s reaching out for Harry and trying to stop him from running off. “Please, Harry -,” he begins.

But Harry’s walking away faster than Nick can stand and cross the room, and in seconds the door shuts and Nick’s left standing there, alone, and left to deal with the decision he’s made.

Harry ducks his head as he walks past people on the sidewalk, the strange looks he gets when he sniffles and wipes at his face, and it’s terribly evident that he’s crying but he pretends nobody’s figured it out. He doesn’t particularly want strangers on the sidewalk to notice him at all, really, because deep down he hates himself for being so outwardly affected, for letting Nick hurt him like this.

When he reaches his block, he looks from his house and then across the street to Louis’s house. He doesn’t want to face his mum, not when he’s in this state, because he doesn’t want to be coddled. He loves her and appreciates that she was understanding about the relationship but he’d rather moan and groan about it to someone else, first. He sees someone smoking in Louis’ backyard and knows it’s him, right away. Harry’s feet are leading him in Louis’s direction before he can even think twice.

Louis’s severe face in the darkness softens just a bit as he sees Harry’s tears. “He dumped you, huh?” Louis asks simply. Harry hates that he knew so easily.

Louis tosses the filter of his cigarette to the ground, done with it, and stamps it out as he walks over to Harry. When Louis had said he didn’t want to miss out on time with Harry, now that Harry was going to be all he’d have left, he hadn’t wanted it like this. Sure, he hates Nick, but he’d never wish this sort of pain on Harry. He loathes Nick for putting Harry through this. Louis’s question hits Harry hard, the way the words sound to his ears like an attack, like something unavoidable and painful and brutal and Harry can’t stand it. He hates the way it makes him cry harder.

He despises that Louis was right.

Louis wraps Harry up into a big hug and Harry doesn’t even mind the overwhelming scent of cigarette smoke assaulting his senses, which he’s always hated. He just folds himself into Louis’s arms and they sit down right there in Louis’ backyard, Harry crying on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Harry whispers through his tears, reaching out to grab at Louis’s jacket.

It’s uncomfortable, Louis sitting down on the ground and trying to hold Harry up all on his own, when Harry’s putting his full weight on him. “What have you got to be sorry for? Nick’s the one who fucked up,” Louis sighs. He wants to be angry. He wants to be furious at Harry and to tell him to get the fuck out of his yard, but he feels bad. He knows what Harry’s going through - he _was_ Harry, once upon a time, crying just as hopelessly on Liam’s shoulder.

Harry sniffles and it’s ugly and he’s got snot on his sleeve, but he doesn’t care. He’s too hurt to worry about how he looks. “For not listening,” Harry says. He hiccups and lets out a deep breath, trying to slow his tears. “You told me he’d hurt me.”

“I’m over it,” Louis says, shrugging lightly. “Nobody ever listens to me, so really, I’m okay.”

After the sting of Liam and Zayn both deciding to move on to bigger and better things, the news that they won’t be around for him as much anymore, Louis will take any companionship he can get. Besides, he’s probably going to lord this over Harry eventually, and he knows it. He’s just kind enough to wait until Harry’s moved on a little bit, and less prone to crying.

“You’ll be fine,” Louis reminds Harry, his voice gentle and soothing. “This sort of feeling will go away, eventually.”

And that’s all he says on it. Harry cries on his shoulder a little longer before Louis invites him in to make him tea. Harry agrees, and Louis feels a smug sort of satisfaction as time goes on and he realizes that now Harry’s going to trail him like a little puppy again. Louis is glad for it; he’s not fond of being alone, and if he ever sees Nick again, Louis will have this to hold against him, too.

So really, everything’s worked out in Louis’s favor.


	2. Autumn '09-Summer '10

Uni isn’t nearly as easy as Liam had hoped it would be.

Seeing as he’s only got one day per week on campus, he feels horribly like he’s wasting time when he finds himself lost, unable to find his classroom on the first day. It’s not that hard, but maps have always baffled him a bit and he’s never been there before.

He looks at the building to his left, and then to the other on his right, and he frowns as he gazes back down at his map. They look exactly the same.

“Need some help?”

Liam spins around to see Sophia standing behind him, looking as beautiful as ever. She’s comfortable on campus, clearly. She’s got her bag slung over her shoulder and her hair is in gentle curls over the other shoulder, and Liam swallows hard. She’s dressed up. Or rather, she looks it, compared to what he’s grown up used to. Her fingernails are painted where she’s holding her bag in one hand and her mobile in the other, and he sees a diamond earring flash as she cocks her head to the side, waiting patiently for him to answer.

“Yeah, I -,” he awkwardly thrusts out his schedule, feeling rather incompetent.

Sophia looks down at the paper, figures out what building he’s meant to be in and when, and she can’t fight the smile on her face. “Oh, Liam,” she says sympathetically. She checks the time on her phone and says, “You’ve missed your only class.”

“What?” Liam asks, alarmed. “I haven’t! I’ve got time. I can run. I -,”

She puts her hand gently on his shoulder and says, “It’s alright. Really. Lots of people join after the first day. You can’t make it all the way to this building today, not in time. But really, Liam. I promise it’s okay.”

Liam deflates, his shoulders sinking and his chest tightening. His first day and he’s already mucking up this university thing. If Louis ever found out, he’d never let him forget about this. Sophia frowns, noticing the way Liam looks so incredibly disappointed. “I promise it’s okay,” she says again. “How about a cuppa? Cheer you up a bit?”

He nods, feeling rather pathetic, and tucks his schedule back in his pocket. Gently, her heart beating wildly with worry and a hint of fear, Sophia reaches out to take Liam’s 

hand in her own. That sets his own heart racing, and he squeezes a bit to reassure her, to promise that he wants this. It’s also a huge comfort, having her there with him.

He hadn’t really considered it before that very moment, but their fingers slot together so perfectly, and he likes the comfort of having a friend after having messed up his whole morning, and, well -- it’s Sophia. She’s beautiful - always has been, though he knows she’s well out of his league - and for some reason she’s chosen to be this kind to him. He’s going to take it for as long as he can.

She walks slowly, her boots clicking on the pavement as they walk across campus. Sophia knows her way, he realizes. He should have just asked her sooner how to get where he needed to go. Granted, she’s in halls and he’s coming from home, but she’d still be able to text.

Liam makes a mental note to get her number whilst they’re having tea.

The Costa is busy when they get there, and they queue up, hands still clasped between them. Sophia looks down at her phone, and Liam reaches into his pocket for his own. “So er… I realize I could have totally avoided this if I’d just asked you,” he says, unlocking his iPhone and awkwardly holding it out. “Could I like… get your number or something?”

Sophia’s cheeks redden and she smiles, looking up at Liam like she’s surprised he’d even ask. “Yeah, of course,” she agrees, and releases his hand so she can type in her name and number. She hands it back to him and says, “Text me so I know it’s you, okay?”

Liam nods and does, right away. When they get to the counter, Liam’s holding out his credit card before Sophia can even get to her wallet. “I’ve got it,” he tells her warmly.

She tucks a curl behind her ear and looks up at Liam appreciatively. He loves that look on her face, the surprise and happiness all at once, and he’s so gone for this girl. He doesn’t know exactly when it hit him so hard, got so intense and urgent, but now he’s buying her tea and she’s holding his hand and whatever’s happening, he can’t explain it. Harry’s behind the counter - Liam forgot that he’d gotten a job at Costa - and he winks at Liam as Liam and Sophia walk over to a table.

“So… how are your courses?” Liam asks as he takes the lid off his cup and stirs in some sugar.

Sophia looks up at Liam, looking a mixture of surprised and pleased, and replies, “They’re okay. Hard to tell yet.”

Liam nods. He’s struggling to make conversation. He always does, but with Sophia it’s worse. He’s tongue tied and wants so desperately to just hold her hand again, or to do something sweet for her, and he has to swallow it down with his tea. “So you’ll always be here on Mondays then?” she asks softly.

He nods again, and he says, “Yeah. We should like, have lunch when I’m on campus, or something, maybe. If you want?”

“A standing lunch date?” she asks.

 _Date._ The word rings in his ears and he gapes for a moment before he composes himself. “Yeah. I mean. Yeah?” He winces. He hadn’t meant to stammer so badly.

Sophia’s whole face lights up. “Yes, yeah, please.” She looks flustered and takes a breath before she admits, “I’d really like that. I like spending time with you, Liam.”

Liam’s cheeks flush and he grins like a fool. “Yeah, I like spending time with you too, Soph.”

“Good,” she grins.

He nods and agrees, “Yeah, good.”

\+ + +

It’s one of Harry’s first shifts when he sees him.

Fresh off the heartbreak of Nick dumping him, and ready to date again in order to forget all about that whole ordeal, Harry’s been looking around campus each time he works to see if he can meet anyone. He’s not enrolled in uni or anything, but he’s got a job at Costa that he’s started that October, and he really likes talking to people, so it works out rather well. He doesn’t mind standing around on his feet all day making coffee and warming up scones and other treats - not when he gets to chat with dozens upon dozens of people his own age, many of them rather attractive.

Then Harry meets Niall - sweet, charming Niall, with his fake blonde hair and his bright blue eyes that dance every time he laughs at something. Harry tries to put that look on his face, but his humour isn’t all that good. Niall smiles anyway, though. He smiles when Harry asks his name, and what he’s studying (paediatric nursing), and where he’s from (a small town in Ireland called Mullingar. Harry’s never heard of it.). Even with braces on his teeth, Niall grins like an idiot, and it makes Harry’s heart beat just a bit faster.

Niall seems rather out of his league though.

Which basically means Harry thinks Niall’s straight.

But he smiles and chats each time he comes round, getting the same old thing - tea with loads of sugar in it, and a little steamed milk on top. Harry always asks him how he’s doing and if his courses are going alright. Niall’s stressed more often than not, though he never looks it.

One night, Niall’s there incredibly late, all the way until closing time. Harry’s the last one standing at Costa, his coworker taking out the trash after finishing up all the cleaning. Harry’s just got to wait a little longer, the last half hour before the shop’s shut down for the night. Niall’s the last one in the cafe, sitting in the corner, pouring over his massive textbook and pile of notes. Harry sips at his tea as he leans against the counter, waving goodbye to his coworker, before he decides to make Niall some more tea, to go. He’s likely to be up a while still, if the way he’s looking all harassed is anything to judge by.

Harry steams the milk and pours it over the hot water and tea bag, and once it’s sufficiently steeped he pulls out the bag, puts a cap on, and walks out from behind the counter. He’s feeling nervous as he approaches Niall, his stomach in knots at the thought of over-thinking this whole thing, of making something out of nothing as far as Niall’s concerned. Harry dims the lights over the counter, since he’s pretty sure they’ll have no more customers. The lights get Niall’s attention, and he looks up, cheeks flushed.

“Sorry,” he mutters in a rush. “Sorry. Sorry. I’ll get out of here. You probably want to go home, yeah?”

Harry smiles warmly as he walks up to the table with the tea in hand. “I made you some tea for the road,” he offers. “Could help you carry your stuff to the library or back to your place or something too, if you’d like.”

Niall quirks an eyebrow. “How much do I owe you?” he asks.

“It’s on the house,” Harry says. “You look awfully stressed. Anything I can help with?”

Niall sets down his pen, Harry just noticing that the tips been chewed on, and Niall looks torn. “I dunno. I mean it’s just a lot of medical terms, really. And body parts. Anatomy is fucking _hard_ ,” Niall says, his voice thick with frustration as he gestures to piles of papers with anatomical drawings on them. “It’s fine,” he says, shaking his head. He looks back up at Harry, “I shouldn’t keep you from your studies, anyway.”

“I haven’t got any,” Harry says warmly. “I’m just working here. Dunno what I’d study, honestly. I’d rather just play music.”

Niall grins, glad for the distraction. “Wicked,” he says. “You do any shows at all?”

“Not really,” Harry admits. “Not yet, at least.”

“You should!” Niall says. “I’d come listen. I’d rather do me homework over a pint, anyway.”

Harry laughs and says, “No homework allowed at any of my future shows!”

Niall’s grinning, and he lets himself relax in that moment. Harry’s really glad he could relieve some of the stress, even just temporarily. After they’re quiet for a beat, he asks, “So, d’you want help getting to the library or something?”

Slowly, Niall starts to nod. He stares down at his piles of papers and says, “Yeah. That’d be great. I’ve got an exam tomorrow and I should keep studying.”

“Just one second, let me go lock up. You gather your stuff up and I’ll be right back,” Harry says.

He rushes over to the counter so he can hang up his apron and lock the cash drawer. Then he punches out and shuts off the lights, another shift done. Harry shrugs on a jacket as he walks back to Niall’s table, and he sees several haphazardly-packed stacks of things. Niall’s got his backpack slung over his shoulders, stuffed to the brim, and he looks sheepish as he says, “It’s a lot.”

“It’s fine,” Harry insists, picking up a pile of books. They’re heavy, but he pretends like they’re not. The folders are perched a little precariously on top, but Harry’s pretty sure they can get to the library without incident.

Niall’s left with free hands, and Harry just nods at the tea and says, “Carry the tea and get the doors. It’s fine.”

With that, he follows Niall out of the student union and towards the library. It’s dark outside, and damp, and Harry finds himself rather glad that this isn’t his life, at least right now. He doesn’t find the idea of sitting up studying for hours on end all that appealing, though who does, really? The library is quiet and terribly empty, and Harry follows dutifully to a table in the corner. “You like corners, don’t you?” Harry whispers, teasing with a smirk on his face.

Niall sticks his tongue out in reply, and sets his tea down first. Then he lets the backpack fall with a thud. The one student in his vicinity looks up, annoyed, but Niall doesn’t think twice about it. Harry gently sets down Niall’s books and folders and says, “Good luck on your exam.”

“Thanks,” Niall says, looking worried again. “You working tomorrow?”

“Nah,” Harry shakes his head. “I’ve got tomorrow off. Too bad it’s a Wednesday and not a Friday or something.” He chuckles.

Niall nods and says, “Well… thanks for the tea, and for the help carrying this shit. God I’ve got so much stuff left to study. I guess I’ll see you soon then?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiles. He pats Niall on the shoulder and says, “Don’t stress too much, okay? It’s just one exam. You’ll be brilliant.”

Up close, Niall looks even more exhausted and tired than Harry had originally thought he would, but he sees relief spread through his features at his affirmations. The realization makes Harry feel warm inside, a happiness spread through him that he hadn’t felt in a while. “Thanks,” Niall says warmly, looking a little more relaxed than he had before.

“I’ll see you,” Harry says, waving as he steps away to leave Niall in the library to study.

Niall waves back, smiling yet again - as he always seems to be doing around Harry - before he sits down to get back to his studying.

\+ + +

When Harry hears word that he’s going to be working with a new staff member on a drizzly November morning, he’s ecstatic. He loves meeting new people. He’s already fallen in really well with all the other people he’s met so far at Costa, and he’s sure this new person will be no different.

Seeing that it’s Sophia, of all people, when he arrives for his shift is even more exciting. “I didn’t know you’d applied!” he says with a big smile as he pulls her in for a hug.

“Yeah,” she says sheepishly. “I wanted a bit of extra cash for uni. I figured if my parents are paying for uni, I can pay for parties and stuff.”

Harry’s beaming, and he says, “I’m really excited. Does Liam stop by here often? I feel like I haven’t seen him in ages.”

“He doesn’t, but he will now,” she says coyly. “We’re - well, I don’t really know what we are. But we’ve got a standing lunch date and he said he wanted to come and see me, so.”

That puts an even bigger smile on Harry’s face. “That’s great,” he says. “I’ve known since I moved here that you two would end up together. You’re such a cute couple.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Sophia admonishes, slapping Harry’s arm playfully, for good measure.

Harry smiles and opens his mouth to say more, but he’s cut off by their boss telling Harry to get to the counter and start working so he can show Sophia around. They don’t get a chance to talk the rest of Sophia’s shift, but Harry’s sure he’ll see her again soon - and that she and Liam will make progress sooner rather than later. It’s only so long that standing lunch dates can stay platonic, after all.

“Hi.”

Harry smiles as he sees Niall approach the counter at Costa. He already knows his order, taps it into the screen and slides the cup towards the espresso machine so he can steam some milk for the top of his tea. “Hey,” Niall replies, offering his credit card, as usual.

Theirs is an easy friendship now, what with Niall choosing to study at the cafe all the time. Niall’s a bit smitten with Harry, if he’s being totally honest - not that anyone’s asked, but it’s there. It’s settling deep into his bones, this familiarity he has for feelings aimed at a bloke. He’s over it now, really. Now Niall embraces it, takes every opportunity to see Harry and his beautiful dimpled smile - to hear him tell another story in his warm, soothing voice.

“So, what are your plans for tonight?” Harry asks casually as he fetches a tea bag for Niall’s tea.

Niall shrugs noncommittally. “Probably round up a buddy or two and hit the pubs. Have a few drinks,” he replies.

“I have a better idea,” Harry grins. He’s pouring milk now, and he leaves Niall to anticipate as he steams the milk, the noise too much for him to talk over. He sees the look on Niall’s face, the confusion and eagerness to hear what the idea is. Niall’s bouncing from heels to toes with impatience by the time his tea is done, and Harry explains, “We’re having a party at mine tonight. Just really casual, a bunch of people from back home all crashing my mum’s house while she’s away.”

Niall’s eyebrows quirk. Harry laughs. “She’s aware there’s going to be a party, goodness. What kind of guy do you take me for?” Harry asks with a playful smile. “It’s going to be really relaxed, just drinks and maybe games? We’ll see what everyone feels like doing. But you should come.”

“Yeah?” Niall asks with interest as he reaches for his cup. Harry’s just finished it and slid it across the counter to him.

Harry smiles coyly, looking up at Niall with a slight flush on his cheeks. “Yeah,” he nods. “You should come. I’d like you to come.”

“Alright then,” Niall nods. “Sounds fun. I’ll be there. Can I get your number?”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry replies enthusiastically. He scribbles it down on a napkin and slides it across the counter to Niall. “Text me when you’re ready and I’ll send you the address, alright?”

“Yeah, cheers.”

Harry smiles, watching Niall walk to a table to study with a big, satisfied grin on his face. 

That evening, Niall walks into the party with high expectations for what he’ll see. He’s seen plenty of stereotypical parties on the telly and he’s convinced this one is going to be just the same. As he steps through the doors of the house behind Harry, who’s leading him in after fetching him like a lost puppy from the street, Niall looks around and takes it in.

It has all the right elements to be a proper party like on the telly - booming music, lots of bodies - but aside from that, it’s not the same at all. There are crowds of people seated around the living room, a few more in the dining room where there’s been a drinking game set up, and it’s far mellower than Niall ever expected to see.

“They ever have dos like this in Mullingar?” Harry asks as he falls into step with Niall once they’ve closed the door behind them.

And see that - _that_ is why Niall likes Harry so much. He remembers the small stuff, the stuff Niall never seems to remember about other people no matter how hard he tries. It’s sort of impossible, seeing as he’s spent most of his brainpower committing all his nursing knowledge to memory instead. “Not quite like this,” Niall confesses. “Never been to anything quite like this.”

And while he’s seen his fair share of parties, it’s still true. There’s incense burning somewhere, and there’s the faint earthy smell that tells Niall someone’s having a spliff nearby. Harry leads him to the kitchen though, and he grins as he shows off the house’s rather impressive - albeit cheaply stocked - array of liquors. They’re in a long line along the countertop, out on display for the guests of the house. “Pick your poison,” Harry grins.

Niall’s eyes drift up and down the line of liquors. He’s partial to an Irish whiskey, as stereotypical as that might be, but he settles for the Tesco’s own whiskey that they’ve got. “Straight or mixed?” Harry asks as he pulls a red plastic cup off the top of the stack at the end of the counter.

The word _straight_ pulls Niall from his head where he’s still taking in the party, and he gapes, “Huh?”

Harry laughs and Niall hates it because he gets those damn butterflies again. “Do you want straight whisky or shall I add some fizz?” Harry repeats, smile still firmly planted on his lips.

“Oh,” Niall says, flushing red. He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly and says, “Coke. Yeah. Cheers.”

Bemused, Harry pours a couple fingers of whiskey for Niall and tops it off with Coke. He eases it down the counter as he grabs another cup for himself. Niall watches as Harry’s fingers work expertly to pour a gin and tonic. For how clumsy Harry can be sometimes, he’s quite the pro when it comes to alcohol. He wonders how he got to this point, how someone so innocent and warm can be so used to drinking at parties at only age eighteen. He’s got no idea that Harry’s friends with Louis, the resident drinker of Colchester. Niall can’t help but stare - right up until he gets caught as Harry holds out his cup. “Cheers,” Niall smiles, offering up his own as well, in a toast.

He feels awkward, but Harry doesn’t act like he’s noticed- be it intentional or just because Harry is oblivious. For that, Niall is grateful. After a sip, he pulls a face, and Harry laughs. “Never said it was top shelf, but it’s alcohol, right?” Harry says, bemused. Niall nods.

At this point, he’ll take anything if it’ll kill those damned butterflies in his stomach.

Somehow two fingers of whiskey turns into another two fingers of whiskey, turns into a whiskey sour whilst squishing onto an armchair with Harry. Niall’s lost count of how many drinks Harry’s had, and he’s forgotten the names of most of the people at the party, but he hasn’t been able to stop laughing for at least an hour. Harry’s friends are loud and crazy, especially the one who’d introduced himself to Niall as Harry’s best friend. He’d looked dangerously serious about that bit when he stared Niall down, which is why Niall’s done his very best to remember the lad’s name: Louis.

Louis is currently stoned out of his mind on his friend Liam’s lap, smiling and blissfully unaware that he’s half-hard in his jeans for all to see. Niall wishes he could be that unabashed about himself with some of his mates. Liam doesn’t seem to notice at all. Though, that could be because Liam had been coaxed into getting high as well. Besides, the laughter is an improvement from Louis’s earlier sour mood when he’d discovered that Zayn - the lad he’d arrived with that Niall barely got a glance at - had ditched him to go be with his girlfriend. “They _always_ fuck off and ditch me so they can have a shag,” Louis had whined, his voice raspy from so much smoking. “It’s annoying.”

“You’re just jealous,” Niall had teased. It was a risk, teasing someone he’s just met when they’re not sober, not level-headed, but Louis takes it in stride. Louis pouted, but then Liam had offered him more crisps and Louis was placated once more.

Happy Louis is a far pleasanter Louis, clearly. He kept out of their business, let Harry squish into the armchair with Niall without qualm. He’d been eyeing Niall with narrowed eyes earlier, so it was a distinct possibility that he’d say something off-coloured if Niall wasn’t careful.

But he hadn’t, and he probably won’t now that he’s gotten so high, and Niall is quite at ease with this information. Niall isn’t always the most confident with strangers, and the last thing he wanted was to come to a head with one of Harry’s friends.

The party is much smaller by the time the evening reaches the wee hours of morning, with only half a dozen people scattered about the room. The only other people left aside from the lads is a pair of girls, Sophia and her roommate, who are lounging around and looking bored out of their skulls.

Just when Niall’s about to suggest they go do something they’ll enjoy more, they’re excusing themselves. Sophia looks upset, but only Niall seems to notice, and they’re gone before he can say anything. He’s so drunk he’s forgetting to use his voice when he opens his mouth. It doesn’t bode well for the following morning, but he doesn’t mind all that much.

“You can sleep in my room tonight if you’d like,” Harry says in Niall’s ear. The way his voice dips low and his breath tickles Niall’s ear makes a shiver shoot down his spine.

He licks his lips and nods, “O-okay.”

Harry struggles to free himself from the armchair, seeing as he’s half-pinned underneath Niall and he’s been shoved in the back corner of it. Niall laughs as he stands to let Harry free, and the sudden lack of something holding him back makes Harry stumble and nearly fall on the coffee table. “Careful Harold,” Louis warns with a giggle.

Harry’s flushed red now, and he sticks his tongue out like a child in response to Louis. Louis just holds up his middle finger and looks at Liam whilst Liam laughs his ass off at the apparently hilarious exchange. Niall, cares tossed to the wind, reaches out for Harry’s hand. He tugs at it and says, “Come _on_. Where’s your room?”

That makes Harry refocus his attention and in a few awkward, stumbling steps, he’s at the staircase and leading Niall upstairs.

“Don’t forget the condoms!” Louis calls after them.

Niall’s stomach twists and it’s not from too much alcohol. He knows what Louis’s words mean. He _likes_ what Louis’s words mean.

Apparently so does Harry, because they barely reach the landing of the second level before Niall’s pinned to the wall, one of Harry’s hands on the wall on either side of his head. “Y’good?” Harry whispers.

Niall can feel one of Harry’s curls brushing his cheek, his breath on his lips. What Harry’s just done has him stunned to the spot and he really quite loves it. His mouth goes dry and he nods frantically, too curious to be afraid anymore. The butterflies aren’t going anywhere and he knows it, so he may as well try to give them what they want.

Their noses bump and Niall lets out a soft laugh before he feels Harry’s lips on his own, a gasp lost between them. Niall closes his eyes and moans right away, shocked by the intensity with which Harry’s just kissed him. He’s trapped to the wall, head tipped up to meet Harry’s mouth with his own. There’s a tongue at his lips, tasting and begging entrance, and Niall parts his lips as he reaches out and fists his hands in Harry’s shirt, tugging him closer. He can feel Harry smile, taste the laughter as they keep kissing right there in the hallway where anyone can see them.

Harry’s too drunk to realize this is probably just him trying to push away the feeling of Nick’s absence, to fill that hole in his chest where Nick had settled in, all loving and kind and sweet. He’s got his hands dropped down to Niall’s shoulders, sliding up over his neck to cradle his chin. Harry can feel Niall’s racing pulse at the juncture of his neck and it matches his own, thrumming wildly without anything to stop it. A moan tumbles from Harry’s lips as he rolls his hips against Niall’s, his erection pressing up against his waist.

Niall’s got his legs parted, slotted on either side of Harry’s, and his mouth drops open and a soft _oh_ tumbles out as he feels Harry, hard and insistent against him. “Room?” Niall mutters, keeping his lips touched to Harry’s even though he can hardly breathe with it all. His head’s spinning in the best way and he just wants to lie down and to take off his jeans. He doesn’t think he can stand the slight pain of his prick pressing hard against the fly of his jeans for much longer.

With a nod, Harry slowly peels himself away and trips over his own two feet as he takes Niall’s hand and leads him to the end of the hall. His room is dark, the bed in the center of the floor, like some sort of zen thing Niall doesn’t understand. Harry’s burnt incense in here lately, Niall can tell just by the smell, and he’s not surprised in the least by the dark blue paint on the walls and the plants and horribly hipsterish paintings hanging on all four sides. “C’mon,” Harry whines as Niall shuts the door. He’s pulling on Niall’s free hand, in the general wobbly direction of the bed. “Want you.”

Harry would probably take anyone at that point, but he doesn’t say as much. Niall’s cute, and he’s sweet, and Harry’s really glad his friends seem to like him. Niall laughs, all throaty and warm, and it relaxes Harry, makes him think that maybe Niall’s not so bad, that maybe there’s more feelings there than he’d realized. It’s hard to make sense of his head, especially when it’s sloshing about with so much alcohol.

Niall kneels down on the bed, bracketing Harry’s legs with his own, and he lands with an _oomph_ on his elbows. Harry flinches, because Niall’s elbows were awfully close to his face, but then their noses are bumping instead and Harry’s breathing hitches as he opens his eyes and sees Niall’s bright blue eyes gazing happily back at him. “Hi,” Harry grins, cheeks flushed.

“Heya,” Niall replies, looking just as happy.

Niall rolls his hips and Harry’s hand finds his waist, and they’re an awful tangle of limbs and they’re laughing way too much to kiss properly at this point. Harry rolls them and cants his hips down, and Niall’s throaty moan is so loud that Louis and Liam can probably hear them downstairs. The thought crosses Niall’s mind, but is gone in an instant. He forgets as soon as he feels Harry’s fingers on his fly, awkwardly fumbling his way through undressing Niall.

Niall desperately wants to get Harry naked too, but he knows those jeans will probably take Harry’s practiced efforts to get them off, because they look skin-tight and painted on. He laughs as Harry stumbles out of them, and as Niall watches, he unbuttons his shirt. Niall lets it fall open, his chest hair on display and his chest and tummy heaving with each big breath he takes. Harry’s stunning, but Niall knew that already. It’s just different, he thinks, when he sees it for real, up close, without clothes to obstruct the view. He’s got a few tattoos - lovely sparrows on his chest that Niall loves a lot - and a few on his arms, as well. Niall hasn’t got any, but he quite likes it that way. He can’t be arsed to settle on a design, and besides, he’s always felt a bit uneasy about the idea of injecting ink under his skin repeatedly. It’s not even the needle thing - just the idea of the feeling, the permanence.

But on Harry they work, and they look so lovely, and Niall reaches out to touch as soon as Harry’s knelt between Niall’s legs. Niall’s still got his socks on, because Harry’s room is cold and besides, Niall quite likes his polka dotted socks. So does Harry, and anyway, it put a dorky smile on Harry’s face when he’d noticed them and Niall will take that look any day that he can, at any time, because Harry looks so young and _happy_. It’s a good look on him, and it’s fun to see Harry’s reaction whenever he remembers the socks are still on.

Like in that moment when he backs out of a kiss again, to look for some lube and condoms. He snorts when he notices, and Niall’s hand strokes his dick lazily as he watches Harry crawl around the room in search of supplies whilst totally naked. It’s the funniest thing Niall’s ever seen. He props his right arm up behind his head, his left hand working over his cock where it’s blurting pre-come out onto his bare stomach, his grip loose while he waits for Harry.

“Haz, it’s fine,” Niall whines, throwing his head back on the pillows. “I - we don’t have to. Just come here.”

That’s about when Harry gives up on his search and he comes back before Niall realizes, his mouth hot and damp on Niall’s skin, right there at his pulse point on his neck, sucking a mark deep into his skin. “Oh, fuck, Haz,” Niall grunts, his breathing shallow. Harry’s just found the most sensitive part on Niall’s body, he’s pretty sure. He smirks at the knowledge.

“Would you just touch me already?” Niall pleads, his voice breathy and soft.

Harry laughs - actually _laughs_ at Niall’s desperation, the bastard - and reaches down between them, fingers dancing over Niall’s stomach where he heaves with each impatient breath. His mouth stays attached to Niall’s body, sucking marks into his neck and shoulder and chest, and Niall’s hand stills on his dick because if he keeps touching himself, he’ll surely come early. Harry’s a wizard with his mouth, finding all the right places with such ease. “Fuck, come on,” Niall mutters. “D-d’you do this often?”

Harry just shrugs noncommittally, and Niall doesn’t know what that means, but he doesn’t quite care. Nothing really matters to him as long as Harry wraps his long, deft fingers around Niall’s prick and continues covering his body with kisses and marks. Niall thinks he could die and go to heaven just like this and he’d be the happiest he’s ever been. 

Though, that might be the alcohol talking. He doesn’t much care at that point.

Finally, _finally_ , Harry stops teasing and wraps his hand around Niall’s dick, twisting his wrist just right when he reaches the tip, touching Niall in a way he hopes feels good, in a way that he does to himself when he’s home alone. Niall shudders and his breath hiccups and Harry deduces that clearly Harry likes this. But Harry’s kneeling awkwardly over him, his own dick leaking droplets onto his hand and Niall’s belly, and he hesitates for a moment before holding both his and Niall’s in his large hand. “Oh fuck,” Niall gasps, so sensitive that the soft brush of Harry’s dick on his is almost too much.

Harry strokes, experimenting with the feeling of jerking off the both of them at the same time, and he can’t help but look down and stare.

Niall giggles, and Harry fights a laugh as he tries to keep a steady rhythm. “You’re not supposed to laugh, this is serious business,” Harry slurs, amused.

“You idiot,” Niall laughs fondly. “Just - move.” He leans in for a kiss, and then reaches down between them as well. His hand is loose and gentle where he covers Harry’s, and he tries to guide him to move, slowly but surely bringing them both to that edge of pleasure they’re so desperate for.

“Tease,” Harry accuses, and his hips shudder, dragging his dick against Niall’s, and that’s new, and it’s amazing. He does it again, fucking into his fist, against Niall’s prick, and it’s a lot. It’s almost too much.

“Again,” Niall breathes, and Harry acquiesces.

Then the mood in the room really does take a turn for the serious, and they both feel the shift. Niall’s lying down on the bed, flat on his back, and he helps Harry with a lazy, loose grip, sliding their hands up and down as Harry continues rocking his hips.

Niall’s rolling his hips with Harry before too long, and they’re so caught up in each other they’ve got no idea how loud they’re being, the awkwardness long forgotten.

They’re breathing into each other’s mouths as they lazily kiss, too focused on keeping their rhythm going to bother all that much with kisses. Niall’s hands have dropped to Harry’s waist and Harry’s holding himself up with an arm to the side of Niall’s head, and Harry’s grinning as they move faster, more frantically together. “I can’t,” he gasps as he thrusts languidly against Niall’s prick, the right amount of friction from their hands making his mind swirl, his brain go blank for a moment, “believe that you’re still wearing your s-socks,” he shudders, feeling dangerously close to the edge.

Niall laughs and looks up at Harry. He combs his fingers through Harry’s curly hair, pushing it out of his face, and says, “Still got me shirt on, too-oh.” He moans as the rhythm changes just so, giving him that last bit that he needs to come harder than he ever has before.

His shirt’s unbuttoned and half draping off of him and Harry can see the sweat under Niall’s arms but he loves it, loves the way the whole room smells like sex and alcohol and the way that Niall’s lips are redder than Harry’s ever seen them before, and it’s beautiful. He loves the soft brush of their skin as he thrusts into his fist, and the way Niall’s constantly moaning now, punctuated whenever Harry presses his full weight down, pinning him to the bed, and _god_ , it’s really the best one night stand Harry’s ever had. And the only one, but that’s besides the point.

“I-,” Niall gasps, tugging just a bit on Harry’s hair, “Haz, I’m -,”

Harry speeds up, putting all his effort into making Niall come, because it’s the most beautiful sight he’s seen in awhile. Niall’s got a tighter grip on their dicks now, and he jerks their hands quicker, fast and dry. Harry only has to thrust one, two, three more times before Niall’s coming in spurts across his stomach, toes curled in his polka dotted socks, his back arching up from the bed. Harry’s close, but not quite there yet. He keeps going, hopes it’s not too much for Niall. His face says it is, but when Harry stops, Niall shakes his head no quickly, desperately, like he wants Harry to come like this, even when he’s feeling oversensitive and raw.

Niall pulls Harry in for a kiss and uses his free hand to slide down Harry’s spine, tracing a trail all the way down to the cleft of his arse. Harry’s thrusting, sweaty, and he’s moaning into Niall’s neck. Niall rubs a finger over Harry’s hole, presses gently just at the rim, and that plus Niall urging him in whispers to _come, please come all over me_ , has Harry coming hard, his vision whiting out as he buries his face in Niall’s neck.

Harry’s moans are loud in Niall’s ear and he grins, thinking about Louis and Liam hearing them, and gently he lets go of Harry to let him drop to the mattress next to him.

They’re an absolute mess, and Harry’s black blankets are going to have plenty of come stains on them when they wake up, but it’s okay for now. They’re too drunk to care. Harry wipes them off with the sheet and then chucks it aside in favour of his duvet. He tosses an extra quilt at Niall, hitting him square in the face, and says, “In case you get cold.”

“That’s what body heat’s for, innit?” Niall grins.

Harry laughs out loud at that, and he reaches over to push Niall’s shirt all the way off him. It drops unceremoniously to the floor next to the bed, and then Harry’s got his arms around Niall, pulling him close. “Sleep well, mate,” he mumbles.

Niall yawns widely, the need to sleep hitting him suddenly, like a ton of bricks. He’s exhausted, falling asleep as his cheek lands on Harry’s chest, his whole body curved up against him.

Louis and Liam hear the sounds of their friends upstairs, the throaty moans and the thud of limbs that don’t quite land on the mattress, and Louis groans. He puts his face in the crook of Liam’s neck and whines, “Leeyum. ‘m drunk. Pissed. Well pissed, mate.”

He’s got a hand tangled in Liam’s hair and he hates the scratch of Liam’s scruff against his nose, and since when did Liam have scruff anyway? Louis sighs heavily and feels his stomach garble, like he’s either going to be sick or he’s massively hungry. He can’t tell one apart from the other at this point, and he’s not sure he wants to use the brainpower to try. Not when he’s swimming with it, drunk enough to curl up all tiny on Liam’s lap, drunk enough to let himself be small and vulnerable.

“Yeah, you are,” Liam nods, and he’s buzzed, but he’s not gone crazy like the others did. He’s responsible, he likes to believe. “I think you drank too much.”

Louis sighs and says, “You’re all having fun without me. I wanted to have fun _with_ you now that I could.”

“Louis, we’ve had plenty of fun without alcohol,” Liam reminds him.

That’s not what Louis wants to hear, and he squirms on Liam’s lap, intentionally squishing him onto the cushion. He’s petulant, but too drunk to have a proper argument. Louis just wants somebody to understand how he’s feeling, is all. And right now he’s feeling like he’s been left behind. “Everyone’s off at uni - even Harry! I know he’s just working, but still,” Louis complains. “What am _I_ supposed to do?”

“You could work. Or volunteer. Or, y’know, you could go to uni, too,” Liam offers.

Louis scoffs derisively at himself. “Me? Uni? You’ve got to be kidding, Li. Eleanor has told me the same thing but let me be clear,” he says. “There’s not a chance in hell.”

Liam’s frowning, Louis can tell even if he’s not looking at him. Liam always frowns whenever Louis is so down on himself. He’s known that for years. “Well, you’ve got to do something other than drink,” Liam instructs him hesitantly.

Angrily, Louis stumbles off Liam’s lap and starts trying to find his way upstairs. He’s halfway up the staircase when he trips and falls with a thud. Liam rushes to his side and helps Louis turn around and have a seat. He wants to get him a bit more sober before they make the trek the rest of the way up the stairs. “Louis, don’t be angry, please,” Liam pleads.

“You lot have all moved on and I’m sitting here forgotten. It’s so fucking lonely, Liam. _So_ lonely.”

Liam looks over at Louis in the dim light from the sconce on the staircase wall. He looks so sad that Louis has to look away, he can’t stand the pity on Liam’s face. Instead he props his elbows on his knees and covers his face with his hands. “You’ve got boyfriends or girlfriends and dreams and jobs and uni and what’ve I got? I can’t find a job and I’ve still got to live with me mum. I’m almost twenty-one, Li. _Twenty-one_!”

Gently, Liam rubs Louis’s back and scoots closer to him, the stair creaking under their weight. He really does feel bad for Louis, wishes it wasn’t so hard for him to not only figure out what he wants to do, but how to get there. Liam wants to encourage Louis to just try uni, to take a semester to figure out if it’s for him before he discounts it, but school costs money and he knows that’s not something Louis or his family has a lot of. It’s not practical to go waste away time and money for a semester. Though Liam doesn’t think Louis would waste it. He’s smart, when it comes down to it. He’s just got to grow up a little, first.

“You’ve still got us,” Liam reminds Louis gently. “Me and Eleanor and Zayn and Sophia. You’ll always have us. And you’ve got Harry, haven’t you? He still lives with his mum and he’s not seeing anyone.”

Louis huffs. “He dated Nick.”

“So? Lou, are you still holding that grudge?”

Louis kicks at Liam’s ankle and mostly misses, hitting the toe of Liam’s boot instead. “I can if I want. You know what he’s done.”

Liam sighs. He can’t find it in himself to fight with Louis over this. Both sides of the story are clear as day in his head; he wants to be the supportive best friend, but he also knows when someone’s taking it too far. He purses his lips to keep his comments back and just hugs Louis instead, opting for comfort in touch rather than words.

The whole house is quiet save for the noises of Harry and Niall finishing upstairs. “I think you ought to get some rest. You’re going to be so hungover in the morning,” Liam says after a pause.

Louis stands in a mess of limbs, still unsteady on his own two feet. Liam watches as he goes up the stairs, pounds on the door to Harry’s room and shouts, “Wankers!” and then disappears into the guest room, Gemma’s old bedroom.

Liam sighs and follows, sure that the rest of the evening as well as tomorrow are going to be a headache - both literally, because of the hangover, and figuratively, because Louis’s a pain in the arse when he’s hungover - and he might as well get some sleep while he can. He walks into the spare room to find Louis curled up on his side, eyes already shut, his knees to his chest as he dozes with his mouth wide open.

Always filled with that instinct to take care of his friends, Liam walks up to Louis and takes his shoes off, and then covers him with a blanket before climbing under the covers on the other side of the bed. He looks sadly at Louis for a minute before allowing himself to doze off, as well.

Harry’s up before the sun the next morning, Niall sleeping next to him with his mouth dropped open and his hair all askew. He looks quite handsome, and Harry can see all over the blankets what a mess they made the night before.

A bigger mess than he’s emotionally ready to deal with, but also a physical mess, with come dried all over the blankets.

In his efforts to climb out of bed without waking Niall, Harry wakes Niall. He hears Niall yawn, and then watches as he rubs the sleep from his eyes, and as soon as they look at each other, Harry winces and says, “Sorry.”

Niall’s voice is morning-rough and a little hoarse as he asks, “For what?”

“Waking you? Last night? Dunno. Take your pick,” Harry replies.

He pushes his curls out of his eyes and tumbles off his mattress to find a pair of pants to pull on so he feels less exposed, less naked. It’s probably the only moment in his life where Harry’s preferred to be dressed rather than naked. He’s already so vulnerable after last night, he doesn’t want to add nakedness to it. “It’s fine,” Niall says simply. “All of it.”

“But like, I didn’t even know for sure if you were into men and I just sort of hit on you like that, and we -,”

Niall chuckles and says, “Yeah, I like blokes. Big deal.”

Harry looks surprised. “It was for me. Took me at least a few days to wrap my head around it.”

As he sits up, Niall reaches around for his clothes and says, “I may not have physically done something with a man before but I knew the general idea of what happened. You weren’t the first guy I’ve been attracted to.”

That statement makes Harry close his eyes and wince. It’s not a good sign. “Niall -,”

“Stop worrying so much, would you?” Niall says, laughing. “We hooked up. No need to look like I’m about to expect you to get on one knee and propose.”

“It’s just that a few months ago, I was with this guy and he completely broke my heart,” Harry says, his voice sounding desperate as he tries to explain. “It’s not that I don’t like you, it’s just -,”

Niall reaches over for Harry to put his hand on his shoulder gently, capturing his attention. “Harry. It’s really fine, I promise,” Niall reassures him. “We’re mates who got off once because it’d been a while. Yeah?”

Harry’s eyes go wide for a moment. His nearly-nineteen year old brain can’t handle such a concept yet, a friends with benefits sort of situation. But Niall seems to be okay with it, and he _is_ nineteen, so he could be an expert. His casual nature seems to be all Harry needs to push away the anxiety, at least, and he nods. “Right. Yeah. We’re… good? Friends?” Harry asks.

Niall laughs, throaty and warm and bright. “Can’t get rid of me that easily!” he replies.

It takes some getting used to, this uni lifestyle, but Harry thinks he can manage it alright if everyone’s as nice about it as Niall.

\+ + +

It’s a dreary, slow January evening at Costa when Harry sidles up to Sophia, who’s standing in the corner sipping her tea quietly. They haven’t had a customer for almost twenty minutes now, since most people are still on holiday and Harry’s half-tempted to make himself a latte just so he can stay awake until closing time. He’s had a lot on his mind, recently, and he thinks maybe this is a good time to talk to someone else about it - someone other than his mum and sister.

“Sophia? Can I ask you something?”

He’s standing next to her, his elbow bumping hers, and she looks over with curiosity. “Sure. What’s on your mind?” she asks.

Harry sighs, because he’s not quite sure where to start, honestly. “Well,” he starts slowly, choosing each word carefully and deliberately. “I’ve been thinking about the future a lot lately,” he starts, wincing at his words as soon as they leave his mouth. He takes a deep breath and continues, “I really want to be a musician. I love performing, though usually it’s just to the cat, but I want more, you know?”

“Of course,” Sophia agrees, nodding. “You put all that work into your songwriting… you ought to put it out there. I’m sure it’s great.”

She takes another sip of her tea and Harry’s quiet for a minute. “D’you want to hear some of it?” he asks. His voice shakes just the slightest, because the only people who’ve ever heard his music has been Nick, who ended up dumping him, and his mum and sister, whose job it is to support everything he does. Not exactly impartial listeners, in the end.

Sophia’s whole face lights up and excitedly, she nods. “I’d love that,” she says.

Harry reaches into his pocket to grab his phone, and he’s still got the earbuds attached from earlier. He opens up the app on his phone and queues up a few songs before offering the earbuds to Sophia. “You should go listen in the back,” he says, nodding behind her. “That way you don’t have to worry about hiding your expression when you hate it,” he jokes, but it falls flat. “Just go, so the steamer doesn’t drown out the sound. I’m going to make a latte.”

“Don’t worry,” Sophia says warmly, putting a hand on his forearm to calm him. “You’re very talented. I’m sure it’s great.” But just as he requested, she turns on her heel and goes into the back room to listen.

Harry chews at his lower lip so hard he’s shocked he hasn’t yet drawn blood, and he puts his full focus into making the best latte he’s ever done. He even tries his hand at latte art, since it’s so slow at the cafe, but it just turns out like a giant blob of white on top of the dark tan of the espresso. He sighs and decides to try another day - but then hesitates. Going to London to pursue this, as he’d discussed with his mum, means leaving this job. It means leaving all of it behind and putting his money on taking a once in a lifetime chance.

But his mum and sister both thought it was a good idea. Never in a million years had Harry thought his mum would support him going off to a strange city and trying to get into the music industry, but she is. She says he’s always got a home with her, but if this is where he feels he should go next, then she’s not going to hold him back. He’s eighteen, but she’s trusting him with so much he feels like he’s at least twenty-five.

It’s a liberating feeling, knowing he can take off and try new things and still have a place to go if he crashes and burns. It makes Harry feel free, and light, and he already knows this is what he wants to do, but he’ll feel better hearing it from his friends.

When Sophia comes back a few minutes later, she’s got a big smile on her face. “Harry - you wrote those?” she asks, handing his phone back to him. He nods, staring at her dumbly. “I love them all, so much,” she says. “They’re so sweet and fun and you play and sing really well.”

Harry can’t believe that she’s actually saying this, that she loves his music _that_ much, because he knows it’s good but he doesn’t think it’s _that_ good. He knows he can develop more, that songwriting takes practice, but he’s proud of where he’s at right now. He’s proud that he’s got Sophia looking at him with so much awe. “So it wouldn’t be crazy if I packed up and went to London to try to get people to listen to me?” Harry asks softly.

“Not at all!” Sophia replies. “I think you should. Honestly.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks, looking hopeful.

Sophia nods. “You’ve got talent, Harry,” she tells him. “Ask any of the lads, too and they’ll tell you. You’re meant to be a performer.”

Harry looks unsure, and Sophia smiles, soft and sweet, before sweeping him up into a hug. “Do what you’re most comfortable with. But it certainly wouldn’t be crazy if you wanted to go to London and get discovered,” she tells him.

Harry can’t fight the smile spreading across his face, because that’s exactly what he’d hoped to hear. He didn’t have to persuade her into it or anything - the music spoke for itself.

“My mum already said I could. She said she’d help me,” Harry explains. “I think I’m going to do it.”

Sophia’s expression lights up and she says, “I’m glad! Have you told anyone else yet?”

Harry shakes his head. “I should, though,” he admits. “And soon.”

In all his eagerness, Harry doesn’t wait long at all to tell the lads that he’s decided to go to London. He calls them over to his house the very next day, and he’s got butterflies in his stomach as he waits for them to arrive. He’s so nervous, he’s prepared snacks - mostly veggies because he’s been craving them lately - and he’s got the kettle on because he knows how much Louis likes tea. As expected, Niall’s the first to arrive, with Liam in tow, and they’ve just got to wait for Louis. Louis is late - another thing that doesn’t shock Harry in the least - and before long they’re all sat around a table with the three of them staring at Harry expectantly.

“Harry, why have we all gathered up in your house?” Louis asks, staring at the weird vegetable-shaped snacks lying out on the table of Harry’s mum’s house.

Sheepishly, Harry holds them out - they really _are_ vegetables, which means Louis won’t eat them - and he’s looking at all of his friends with a big smile on his face. He’s nearly bursting with it, whatever he’s going to say, and Louis isn’t so sure he wants to hear it.

Niall and Liam, on the other hand, look like they’re positively itching to know what’s going on, and Liam even eats one of the ants on a log sticks for good measure. “What is it?” Niall asks excitedly, his face sharing Harry’s same excitement even though he hasn’t got a clue what’s going on.

“Well, I wanted to tell you guys my news,” Harry says.

He sits down at the table with them and pours tea for everyone, only drawing out the anticipation even more. He looks so pleased with himself, and Liam and Niall look so excited, but Louis can’t bring himself to share in their enthusiasm. Every single bit of “good news” has turned out to be someone leaving him or being around him less; Harry’s just started paying Louis attention again, now that Nick’s broken up with him, so Louis very much doesn’t want that to change.

Except he’s fairly sure it will. Why else would Harry look so pleased?

“I’m moving to London,” Harry explains as he offers sugar to Louis.

Louis shakes his head.

“What? You are?” Niall asks.

With the most judgmental look on his face, Louis cups his mug in his hands and leans back in his chair, watching as the others shower Harry with pats on the back and smiles of encouragement. Harry’s cheeks are pink with pride and he bites his lip to keep from smiling too big, but he can’t fight it. “Yeah,” he nods. “I played some of my demo tracks for Sophia the other day at work, and she said I should go to London and see if I can get someone to play my stuff on the radio.”

Harry looks from Niall, to Liam, and then over to Louis. One look at Louis has Harry’s smile disappearing, morphing into a deep frown, his brow furrowed. “Lou?” he asks. “I - say something. Please.”

“What’s there to say?” Louis replies. “You’re leaving. Good for you.”

Liam senses the tension, knows what this is going to do to Louis, and he wants to prevent a huge blow-up if he can. “I think it’s brilliant,” he says, trying to catch Harry’s attention again. He puts his hand on Harry’s arm and asks, “Can we hear some of your stuff?”

Harry’s worried gaze is torn from Louis as he tries to focus on Liam instead, tries to capture that happiness he’d had just seconds earlier. “Sure, just a minute, Liam,” he says.

He stands up to gather his laptop from the counter and sits down to start playing a song to them. It’s the one he’d written for Nick, but he won’t admit that to these guys, at least not now. They listen with interest, Liam and Niall both getting really excited about it. “You sound amazing,” Niall says. “Did you write that yourself?” Harry nods, and Niall looks genuinely impressed.

“It sounds proper professional, that,” Liam adds. “I think you’ve got a shot, mate.”

Harry looks pleased, but his attention ends up focused back on Louis. It always does. He doesn’t want things to be bad between them, or strange like they can never fix it. Louis was his first friend in Colchester - Harry wouldn’t have the friends he does if it wasn’t for Louis. “Louis?” Harry asks nervously. “I - I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“Yes, I’m so pleased,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. As everyone else sat and fawned over Harry and praised his idea to leave Louis behind, Louis drank down his whole cup of tea. He sets the cup down on the table and continues, “Another friend leaving me behind. Such a great feeling, let me tell you.” The sarcasm is thick, and it hits Harry hard, making him look sadder than he has all day.

“Louis,” Liam warns.

“That’s awfully selfish of you,” Harry snaps back.

Louis hadn’t expected that, for Harry to stand up for himself. He doesn’t quite like it. It takes the control away from Louis, makes him feel like he’s got to fight to be heard now, rather than being able to tell Harry what he thinks without worrying about retaliation. Niall and Liam obviously didn’t expect it either, because their eyes go wide and they don’t know what to say at first.

Niall laughs nervously and says, “Alright, lads, it’s fine. Harry will come back and visit, yeah?” Harry nods distractedly. “Besides, it’ll give us all an excuse to go up to London and party with the big-city kids.”

 _Big-city kids_. It hits Louis like a ton of bricks and he turns sharply from Niall to Harry. “You’re going for _him_ , aren’t you?” Louis asks, his voice harsh and accusatory. “You still want to be with Nick. This is all about _him_ , right? You miss him. I’m not good enough to replace him.”

“Louis, no -,” Harry starts. Except he doesn’t know what to say, because his vague plan is to crash at Nick’s for a while, but telling Louis that will kill him.

Louis stands, angrily, and says, “Save it. I get it.”

As Louis starts to leave, Harry stands and follows him to the door. “Louis, no, wait!” Harry calls.

It takes all the strength Harry has to lean against the door, keeping Louis from opening it. Louis is stronger than he looks. “Let’s just say I’m used to this, okay?” Louis snaps. “You want to go off to London to be a big star and to get Nick back, I get it. Who can blame you, really? He’s got his shit together and everyone loves you. I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

“This isn’t an attack at you,” Harry says, “You have to understand that.”

“Okay.”

Louis doesn’t look like he believes Harry, but he’s suddenly calmer, terrifyingly calm, in the face of everything that’s just happened.

“Have a good time in London, alright?” Louis says, sounding defeated. Harry doesn’t like that sound in Louis’s voice at all. It’s unsettling. When their eyes meet, Louis’s eyes look wet, but he looks like he’s steeling himself to be strong and tough, as he says, “Don’t forget me when you’re big and famous and Mr. Harry Grimshaw and all that, alright?”

Harry doesn’t know how to respond to that, doesn’t know what to make of the words Louis has just said to him. He’s left standing alone, shell-shocked in the doorway as Louis walks back across the street, hands shoved in his pockets and his head ducked down against the harsh November wind.

“It’ll be okay,” Niall insists, from somewhere behind Harry.

There’s a hand on Harry’s back, trying to comfort him. It’s Liam, trying to support Harry, and he says, “Louis will come around, trust me.”

Niall steps forward to close the door, since Harry’s too surprised to move, and both lads look at Harry with worried looks. “Let’s go celebrate, alright?” Liam offers. He and Niall lead Harry back to the kitchen.

“Yeah, we need to have a proper celebration, get our fill of time with you before you run off to London and get famous,” Niall grins.

As much as he wants to dwell on what Louis said all afternoon, Harry can’t help it. He smiles. Liam and Niall are supportive and understanding, and Harry just really hopes that Liam’s right, and that Louis comes around to the idea eventually. He doesn’t like the thought of losing his first friend in Colchester over something so seemingly insignificant as this.

London isn’t even that far away. Or at least, that’s what Harry thinks.

\+ + +

“You’ve got to come out this Friday,” Louis insists.

Their feet shuffle along the pavement, leaves blowing around their feet as the edges of thick, February winter creep in deep in their bones. It’s cold and Louis shivers in his jacket, a chill shooting down his spine. Zayn walks beside him, cigarette in hand, as he contemplates Louis’s lazy invitation. “I just really can’t, Lou,” he says simply.

He flicks away some ashes from the end of his cigarette as Louis grabs his own from where it’s been held behind his ear. Zayn offers him his lighter and they don’t speak. Not while Louis perches the cigarette between his lips. Not when he lights the cigarette and takes the first long drag. Not when he exhales. He’s never had Zayn turn him down like this before. Usually Zayn is all over party invitations, because it means a good place to deal and make some extra cash. “Come on, we haven’t been out in ages,” Louis adds. “You still owe me those birthday shots.”

Zayn knows that this is meant to change his mind, but it doesn’t. If he’s honest, it doesn’t change a thing - _Louis_ can’t change a thing - because it’s all different now.

“Look,” Zayn begins, flicking the butt of his cigarette to the ground. He stomps on it as they walk and leaves it behind, crumpled, before he continues. “I can’t. I don’t do that shit anymore.”

“Party? Or deal?” Louis asks. He snorts before he adds, “The day you quit parties is the day pigs fly.”

Zayn sighs and he stares down at the ground, hands now firmly stuffed in his pockets. There’s warmth returning to them, slowly but surely, as they reach the edge of town, the dodgy side that Zayn calls home. “I mean it. I quit all of that,” he says, his voice firmer this time. He looks over at Louis, to see if he believes him. Louis looks a mixture of betrayed and amused - like he thinks Zayn’s effort is cute but he doesn’t really believe him. “I can hook you up with someone else if you want some good grass, but I’m done.”

Louis looks insulted as he stops on the sidewalk and turns to face Zayn. His voice is angry and rough as he asks, “Where the fuck is this coming from?”

Zayn stops too, but looks up at Louis with determination in his eyes. He means every word.

“Perrie’s knocked up, mate. I quit it all. I can’t do that shit around a kid.”

Louis’s face falls and Zayn has to look back down at the ground. He doesn’t want to know what expression Louis will have next, what he’ll have to say about this. They reach the front of Zayn’s worn down, ratty flat, and Louis sees Perrie through the window, sleeping on the couch. She looks exhausted and sad, even when she’s resting.

Zayn just nods. “Her parents are well pissed. They wanted her to do the whole thing - uni and a career and all that. I told her she could. That I’d get it, y’know, if she took care of it,” he explains. “We went in, actually. She tried. But in the end she couldn’t do it.” Louis is silent. He tries to think about whether he could give up a child and sound so cavalier about it. He supposes he couldn’t put himself in Zayn’s shoes - it sounds too heartbreaking. “So she’s gonna have it and we’re gonna try to raise it, I think.”

“Here?” Louis asks.

With a harsh laugh, Zayn replies, “Well, where else would we go? I’ve got to get a job and some cash or summat, before we can move.”

Louis looks around again, eying up every flaw about the place. The rusting gutters, the ceiling he _knows_ leaks because he’s been inside when it happened, the bubbling carpets, the appliances so old they’re probably a fire hazard… it’s no place to raise a kid.

“We’ll move when we can, Louis. I’ll graduate in a couple years. She’ll get a job once the kid’s here. We’ll figure it out. People have raised kids in worse.”

With a sigh, Louis asks, “So that’s it, then? No more spliffs or drinks or late nights with the lads? You’re a family man now?”

Zayn shrugs, like he wants to admit it but doesn’t feel like he can. But he knows he has to.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Nothing moves but the trees in the wind, neither speaks as Zayn stares at the ground and Louis watches him quizzically. After an awkward pause, Zayn shoves his hand into the breast pocket of his leather jacket and pulls out a bag. Louis is familiar with it, knows what’s in it - knows it’s his last. “Here, just - don’t pay me then, if you’re gonna make a thing of this,” Zayn mumbles.

He holds out the bag of weed and Louis grabs it. He shoves the cash in Zayn’s hand before he can take it back, before he can insist on not taking it. “You’ve got to come out tonight then. Like we used to,” Louis says, and he demands it more than offers because he wants to pretend this isn’t happening. “We’ll hotbox me car and have a good go of it over at mine. I’ve got some shit vodka we can down after we’re proper fucked, even.”

Louis is walking down the porch of Zayn’s place, assuming he’s going to follow. He does, even if he looks back a time or two more than Louis would like, to make sure Perrie’s alright on her own. Zayn wants to open his mouth, to warn Louis that this is the last time - that this can’t happen again - but it’s unspoken. He knows. Zayn’s pretty sure he shouldn’t even be following now, but he does it anyway.

The whole walk is silent, save for their feet scuffling on the pavement, because Louis is well aware that he’ll say something incredibly stupid, something that would fuck up anything he’s got left with Zayn. He hates that a fucking baby is getting between their thing - their friendship, if he’d even call it that - and that’s saying something because Louis adores children. He’s got siblings, after all, and each and every one of them adores him - the ones who know him, anyway. He hasn’t been around much for Ernest and Doris but that’s a different story entirely.

Besides, Zayn’s got months before the kid arrives - writing off their fun already is a bit of a buzz kill. Louis purses his lips as he walks and ducks his head down, keeping the wind from lashing at his cheeks, from chilling his nose too much. Zayn manages to catch up but doesn’t say a thing, just follows until they’re at Louis’s and they’re climbing into his tiny, broken down blue Clio. It smells clearly of cigarette smoke and the faint traces of the last time they hotboxed it - that’s all they seem to use it for anymore, seeing as it’s too broken to drive more often than not. Louis keeps it for sentimental reasons, more than anything.

They settle into the back seat, the broken seat basket putting them nearly on the floor as they settle in. Louis is ready for this - he’s itching for it - and Zayn’s not putting up a fight so Louis is going to take it while he can. He pulls out the weed and rifles in the pocket of his own jacket in search of the scratched up metal case Zayn’s seen a dozen times. He takes it from Louis and spreads out a piece of paper while Louis retrieves the bag from his pocket. Zayn pulls out just the right amount of weed and rolls a blunt with practiced ease, his deft fingers making quick work of it. He’s always the one to roll them, being as Louis is so rushed and clumsy. He wastes more grass than he’d like, so Zayn always makes them, without protest.

Zayn holds it out to Louis, offering him the end of it so he can light it and get the blunt going. Louis does it, and makes quick work of it, pulling in a long drag, filling his lungs with the smoke that he can see Zayn hungrily waiting for. He smirks, the blunt still between his first finger and thumb, and blows the smoke out in Zayn’s face in a straight, slow stream. “Don’t be a prick,” Zayn mutters.

Louis laughs. He brings the blunt to his lips and inhales, less this time, before he says, “Me? A prick? You’re the one leaving me.”

“To be a _dad_ ,” Zayn grumbles.

He reaches out for the blunt but Louis pulls it back over his shoulder, away from Zayn. “You want to get high? Come and fucking get it.”

Louis brings the blunt to his own lips again, pulls in a long drag, and smirks.

They don’t shotgun much - they only really ever did it when they were really fucking bored, or when Louis was first starting out with it, letting Zayn teach him how to handle the heavy burn in his lungs. Zayn gets it though, and doesn’t mind it much, so he leans over. Louis meets him halfway, glad he’s gotten his way, and their lips both part. Louis breathes out, the smoke getting lost between Louis’s lips, Zayn’s lips, and the car around them. “Give me one fucking drag, man?” Zayn mumbles.

Their lips brush just barely as he asks it, begs it, and Louis laughs. “Why should I?” he asks.

“Because we’re fuckin’ mates, Lou,” Zayn sighs.

“Hmm,” Louis says, bemused. He brings the joint to his lips and inhales again. Zayn doesn’t take his eyes off of him. Louis shrugs, deciding he could share just a little, and holds it out. Zayn takes it and breathes in a long drag. His eyes close and Louis notices the way his eyelashes fall against his cheeks, dark against pale, and it’s a beautiful sight.

Louis’s heart races but he’s fairly certain it’s the weed talking.

Zayn seems satisfied, even with the one, lone drag, and Louis takes the blunt back. “I much prefer shotgunning,” he mumbles as he holds the blunt between his fingers lazily.

“You like snogging,” Zayn corrects.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Too bad you’re a fuckin’ family man now, mate.”

At that, Zayn slouches in the seat and closes his eyes as thin wisps of smoke move throughout the car. They’re a long way to a full-on hotbox, but every little bit counts. He likes the feel of it - it keeps the tension out when Louis says stuff like he’s just said. “I don’t want to use your past against you, but like, fuck off,” Zayn says. “You know full well a kid deserves both parents.”

And he’s said enough to piss Louis off, so they sit in silence for a bit as Louis pulls in drag after drag from the joint until it’s a pitiful little piece of nothing in his hand. Zayn doesn’t even ask for another hit.

“Just give me a fuckin’ break,” Zayn mumbles. “I’m trying. And like, I’ll hook you up with my dealer so you can still get the good shit, alright? You’re not totally fucked over in this.”

Louis elbows Zayn and says, “Fuck you.”

It’s not about the weed, for Louis. Not really. Of course, it’s a part of it, but he really doesn’t care too much whether he gets the good shit because it’s not half as fun smoking without Zayn as it is smoking _with_ Zayn. Zayn’s fucking ace when he’s high - Louis first became attracted to him when he was totally off himself, after all.

He rifles around for the bag of weed and Zayn knows what it means. He pulls out the paper as Louis fetches the bag and they’ve got another joint rolled faster than they expected, considering how slow their movements have gotten.

Louis already feels the heavy laziness in every single inch of his body, the pleasant way he loses himself in his mind when he’s high. He closes his eyes for a moment, leaning his head back against the seat, as he hears Zayn’s hands making easy work of the finishing touches on the new joint. This time Louis doesn’t reach for it right away - Zayn’s allowed to have a hit or two, he’s decided.

“Give,” Louis mumbles when the blunt’s half gone and he’s finally found the energy to ask for more.

There’s plenty of laziness in his bones but he likes to be well and truly stoned. He wants it. Zayn’s the last person he’s got around by this point, with everyone else off at uni or doing some other stupid fucking thing that he’s not interested in. That’s the problem - Louis isn’t interested in much of anything at all. Except getting high with Zayn, which apparently isn’t going to be an option anymore.

He tries not to be bitter. Tries not to think about his failed attempts with Zayn, or what could have been. It doesn’t matter now.

All that matters is the blunt between his fingers and the way Zayn’s slumping shoulder-to-shoulder against him in the backseat of his worn down old car. Something about it feels memorable, but nostalgic and like a long goodbye that’s drawn out longer and longer with each drag, with each inch of laziness and slowness that creeps into them with each swirl of smoke in their lungs. Louis brings it to his lips and closes his eyes. There’s an audible inhale, the way his lips let in a whistle of wind around the blunt where his lips are wrapped around it. Zayn looks over, a half-smile on his lips. When Louis notices the attention, he rolls his head over to lock eyes with Zayn.

And _fuck_ if he’s not the most gorgeous bloke Louis has ever met, not that it matters. But he thinks it anyway; his pining has become his own personal form of hell. Zayn’s leaning in of his own accord now, like he wants it, even though Louis is acutely aware he’s only leaning in for the smoke. He figures he can still dream.

Their lips hover, Zayn’s breath puffing onto Louis’s lips and enticing him to part his lips, to share the smoke that burns their lungs just right. Louis’s eyes are watering with the sting of the stale smoke surrounding them in his car, and he closes them as he exhales. Zayn’s hand drops to Louis’s thigh and he breathes in, Louis can feel it, the way Zayn’s chest expands as he takes it all in, touching Louis’s arm. And _oh_ , Louis thinks, because they weren’t that close the last time he was focusing on that.

Not that he can really focus on anything at all, at this point, but.

Even with the scent of weed, woody and thick around them, Louis can smell Zayn clear as day next to him, the musk of his cologne taking over Louis senses.

And just like that, with the blunt drooping lazily between Louis’s fingers, their lips meet. Louis’s got his hand on Zayn’s hip, the joint sprinkling ash on the seat as he grips his waist with his free fingers, and Zayn’s leaning into it hungrily. Their mouths are slow but desperate, all at once, and Louis thinks that this is it, this is his one chance, and fuck if he’s going to stop now.

Louis only remembers that Zayn had his hand on his thigh in that moment, the way he’s squeezing and leaning in for more, and he adjusts his lips just below Louis’s. Zayn’s gasping into the kiss, little wisps of smoke still trailing out from their mouths as they’re kissing, breathing, moaning all at once, messy and sloppy and _perfect_. Louis pulls out of the kiss but only to look at Zayn’s lips, at how red and puffy they are, and he stares for a minute before he brings the blunt to those perfect lips. Zayn closes his eyes as he inhales - he always does, Louis had noted a long time ago - but it’s different now. He knows how those lips feel, he knows how they taste, and he loves watching them wrap around the blunt to breathe in more.

“Gimme,” Louis mumbles, and Zayn doesn’t even get a chance to exhale before they’re kissing again.

It fucking burns, the smoke in Zayn’s lungs that doesn’t quite make it out as they keep kissing, but he likes it. It’s a suffocating kind of comfort, the way his lungs don’t want to move but know they need to, all at once. “Fuck…” Zayn mumbles. “Take a- take a hit and then… kiss me,” he says, smoke still tumbling out of his mouth as he says it. He wants Louis to feel it, too.

Louis quirks an eyebrow because why the fuck would it matter? But then he’s trying it and it’s a whole new _thing_. He feels a pleasure shoot through him at the feeling of Zayn’s lips on his while his lungs strain against the smoke, against the way his breathing is cut off by Zayn’s perfect, _perfect_ lips. “F-fuck,” Louis mumbles, weak with it.

His eyes are dark and his chest feels thick, and he’s lying back against the door of the car with Zayn on top of him and he vaguely registers that the tiny piece of blunt still left is burning a hole in the seat of the car where Louis is holding it without paying attention. “One more time,” Louis whispers, because he knows that’s all they’ve got left on it.

So they inhale, and they put it out, and their lungs fight the smoke as they kiss, hard and heavy. It’s frantic and rushed and Louis drops the stamped out blunt in favor of sliding his fingers roughly through Zayn’s hair. He tugs at it, tugs him closer, and they’re too fucking far gone to make any sort of good decisions now.

Not that hotboxing in the back of Louis’s car in the first place was a good idea, but he’s not thinking about that.

In fact, Louis and Zayn both aren’t thinking about much of anything other than their desire to be naked and even closer, to be touching and kissing and caressing and letting their high wash over them, the waves of smoke around them in the car keeping them at their blissed-out state of totally fucked. Louis is hard in his jeans, painfully so, and he can feel the way Zayn’s dick is fattening in his own trousers just above him.

Louis is reaching between them without thinking about it, his kisses growing more distracted as he fumbles his fingers down Zayn’s taut stomach, marveling in the way he’s breathing so heavily he can feel it so clearly under his hand, the rise and fall of his whole chest, trying to make room for clean air. Zayn groans as he feels Louis’s hands dragging over the fabric of his jeans, and he cants his hips down because all he wants is to feel more, to get Louis’s hand on him.

It should be cramped and uncomfortable but Louis is so fucked up on plenty of weed and Zayn’s kisses that he’s doing alright, his legs bent awkwardly in the short backseat of his car. Zayn’s kneeling over him and Louis tugs him down by his belt loops, their dicks grinding together even though Louis wishes they were already naked. Naked won’t happen in the car, not totally anyway, because it’s small. And if they open the door, they’ll let the smoke out, and he doesn’t want that, so.

He likes the smog, the way it swirls around them and seeps in through their every pore, drenching them in their high and making their heads spin with the intensity of it, the constant assault on their senses. Zayn’s groaning against his lips, grinding his hips down, and he’s giving in so wantonly that Louis can’t fight the smirk crossing his lips. Zayn so clearly wants it that it’s hard to keep his mouth shut about it. For being so devoted to Perrie, he’s awfully willing to give it away anywhere. Louis loves his new discovery and takes a moment to revel in the fact as he slides his fingertips over Zayn’s bare hips, underneath his shirt.

Louis pushes at Zayn’s jacket, shoving it out of the way so he can touch, see the tattoos littering Zayn’s arms, the ones he’s put there when they were drunk with their friends, sharing a tattoo machine between them after-hours at Johnny’s shop. “Mmph, bastard,” Zayn mumbles as Louis pushes the offending garment away, making Zayn stumble and nearly fall.

“That’s not what your dick says,” Louis laughs. He reaches down to cup the front of Zayn’s jeans , his thumb rubbing down over the outline of Zayn’s erection.

“Fuck you,” Zayn replies.

Louis slides his hand down, dips his thumb over the tip of Zayn’s dick, and Zayn visibly shivers at the touch. Louis full-on laughs. “You want my dick so bad right now,” Louis says, proud of his discovery.

Zayn pushes Louis down hard against the seat, hands on his shoulders, but he doesn’t deny it. He’s leaning in for a kiss and Louis knows it’s silent confirmation, knows that this is happening. Zayn’s so easy that Louis thinks fleetingly that it makes sense that he’s managed to knock up Perrie. Granted, Perrie and Zayn are dating, but still - Louis finds amusement from all of it. Zayn’s come undone so easily under his hands that he feels proud to know there’s a part of Zayn that doesn’t want her.

Louis is rough as he tugs at the button and fly on Zayn’s jeans and he’s pushing them hard down his thighs. “Get your fucking clothes off,” Louis mutters.

Zayn’s pulling out of the kiss and sidling onto the seat between Louis’s legs. “It’s a fuckin’ car, mate,” Zayn complains, kicking his skinnies off as quickly as he can. Louis is opening his own jeans and only lowering them midway down his thighs, enough to pull out his dick to stroke it to full hardness as he watches Zayn flush and fumble to get out of his pants. When Zayn looks over to see Louis casually reclined in the backseat, his dick out, red and leaking in his lazy hand, he mumbles, “Jesus fucking Christ, Lou.”

Louis smirks.

Zayn thinks he kind of hates him. Except he wants his dick so fucking badly - more than he’s ever wanted Perrie - and that changes a lot.

Smoke is still swirling around them and Zayn feels lazy and slow, but he finds himself wanting this anyway, wanting to put all the energy into getting off with Louis, because he’s horny and Perrie hasn’t let him touch her in weeks, and he and Louis are mates, after all. “Don’t just stare at it,” Louis says, obviously pleased with the way the tables have turned. “Suck it.”

“Bastard,” Zayn mutters, but he’s leaning in to do it anyway because it’s Louis, and everything about him is pretty - even his dick.

He’s not as long as Zayn had been expecting - not that he’d admit to thinking about it - but he’s enough to fill Zayn’s mouth and have enough left over, and Zayn’s got his hand wrapped around it as he’s bobbing his head experimentally. He’s never done it before, sucked off a bloke, but he thinks he can manage alright. Tucking his lips around his teeth, he bobs down until it hits the back of his throat, and then Louis moans and Zayn knows he’s done it alright.

As he bobs his head, he strokes the length that his mouth doesn’t cover, and Zayn’s got a lot to focus on. He’s not all that fond of it, seeing as he really just wants to blank out. The weed is making him lazy and slow, and he keeps forgetting how deep he can take Louis because before he knows it there’s a cock at his throat and he’s gagging just a little. Louis hears the choking noise and fists his hands hard in Zayn’s hair, because he still can’t believe Zayn’s gone and done this so willingly.

“Fuckin’ hell, Z,” Louis says through choked breaths, the pleasure suddenly hitting him the way his high did, like a wave coming on slow and then crashing over him all at once. “Get - fuckin’ just -” he sits up and fumbles around underneath himself for his wallet. He pulls it out and opens it to grab clumsily at the packets in it. “Just fuckin’ _ride me_ mate.”

He’s got packets of lube and condoms in his wallet and Zayn just stares because even though he knew Louis was a bit of a slag, this is new. This isn’t something he was expecting. Not the supplies, not the getting high in Louis’s car, and certainly not Louis ripping open a packet of lube and prepping him up. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Zayn remembers he’s got Perrie, but that just leads to thoughts of the baby and he’s fucking _terrified_ for it and just wants to pretend it’s not happening - that he can be reckless and stupid and get away with it. That he can hook up with Louis in the back of Louis’s tiny Clio and not face any consequences.

Zayn’s glad for the smoke swirling around them, the way his lungs constantly feel strained against the burn of the smoke and the way his body is fighting a million different feelings. That way he hasn’t got to worry about speaking, not that Louis seems all that talkative.

Louis is focused on his fingers, about staying upright enough to crook his fingers just deep enough in Zayn to make sure he can handle him, even though Zayn’s pretty sure he won’t be ready no matter how hard he tries to be. This is too new, and he’s too high to really focus all that properly. He trusts Louis, even if Louis is probably higher than he is. Zayn doesn’t quite care as long as his dick gets touched again, and soon.

Zayn’s got his own fingers loosely jerking himself off, but it’s not enough to really make himself get anywhere near coming. He’s got three fingers loosely sliding up and down, two on the underside with his thumb on top, and he thumbs over the precome dripping out the tip. Louis slips in another finger - Zayn’s not sure how many it is, but it feels good and a bit painful all at once, which is apparently a thing for him - and Zayn moans, loud and low. “You’re fucking desperate for me,” Louis says.

Zayn wants to shut him up but can only think to slip his thumb into Louis’s mouth, to make him taste the mess he’s just wiped off the tip of his dick. Louis closes his eyes and hollows his cheeks as he sucks at Zayn’s thumb, his tongue swirling sinfully around it to lap up every last drop. When Louis pulls away he looks up at Zayn and his eyes are dark with lust, flashing with something Zayn’s never seen - desire? Aimed at him? It feels so wrong but so _perfect_ coming from his best mate. He doesn’t know what to do with it.

Louis unceremoniously wipes his hand off on the seat of the car as he holds the condom out to Zayn, knowing full well he won’t be able to open it because his fingers still feel slick from the lube. “Hurry the fuck up,” Louis mumbles as Zayn fumbles with it.

Zayn smacks Louis in the chest as he rips the packet open. “Not my fault we’re so fuckin’ high,” Zayn mutters. “Two fuckin’ joints, Christ.”

With a laugh, Louis says, “How else could I get you like this, you twat? Just get on my dick.”

And as much as Zayn wants to argue, he _really_ wants to come and in that moment he can think of no better way to do it than to do exactly as Louis tells him to. It’s awkward, crouching over in the back seat of the car to get himself in just the right spot, but Louis’s holding onto his own dick to line himself up just right for Zayn. With a deep breath, Zayn starts to press down, and at first he doesn’t think it’s going to work. He’s tight and Louis feels bigger now, and even with the lube on the condom and the rest that Louis squeezed out on his hand to spread over his dick, it still feels like it’s not enough - Zayn honestly don’t know if he can do it.

Louis’s cock slips and slides along the cleft of Zayn’s arse and Louis groans. “Fuckin’ -” he mutters. “Move.”

He grabs Zayn and shoves at him unceremoniously. Zayn doesn’t really know what’s happening, but Louis is manhandling him with a smug look of satisfaction and before he knows it, Zayn’s knelt awkwardly on the floor in front of the seat, leaned over the center console. It’s horribly impersonal but he relaxes over it already, his head bowed as he feels Louis’s hands gripping at his arse, parting the cheeks. Louis is standing, legs on either side of him, and it’s awkward because Louis is bent over him, but then his cock’s pressing inside of him and Zayn doesn’t think he much minds how they’re positioned as long as that burn keeps giving way to the pleasure he feels with each inch sliding into him.

Louis’s mind is spinning and it might be the weed or it might be how fucking tight Zayn’s ass is clutching around him, but either way he’s loving it, soft moans falling from his mouth as he bites his lower lip and grips painfully tight at Zayn’s hips. Zayn’s got his head dipped down, bowed down to touch his hands where they’re clutched together in front of him. His whole body’s shaking and his hair’s a right mess, Louis notes. When he sees it, he leans over and whispers in Zayn’s ear, “You good?”

And it’s the first sort of conversation that’s not littered with cursing or innuendo or a straight-up reference to sex, and it takes Zayn by surprise. He nods, even though there’s still that edge of pain there, and he closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing as Louis starts to rock his hips.

Zayn’s never done this before and Louis full well knows it, so he takes care to go slowly - or slower than he would otherwise - as he doesn’t often top. Louis really just knows what he likes, as a bottom. But Zayn’s ditching him and Louis wants to be in charge of this for once, since Zayn’s been calling all the shots when it comes to their fate. Zayn’s the one who’s decided he’s got to become a family man and even if he says he’s not going to ditch him, Louis knows he will.

So he fucks into Zayn like it’s not one of the last times they’ll ever see each other, slow and languid and then sharp and rough all mixed together. Zayn’s full-on moaning now, gripping at the seat, and he’s canting his hips back to meet Louis’s hips so it must mean it’s good, that they’ve moved past the burn of the stretch.

Zayn’s not sure what to make of how much he likes it.

Louis is so fucking high he’s swimming in it, can barely make out where his body ends and Zayn’s begins. He’s got a hand fisted in the back of Zayn’s shirt and he feels more in control of things than he has in weeks. Pleasure pools low in his belly, and he’s already so close even though it feels like they’ve just started.

Knuckles white, Zayn grips at the center console of the car. He feels the hard plastic of it cutting into his stomach where he’s bent over, restricting his lungs from really taking in too much air because he can hardly hold himself up, but he loves it. He’s terrified of how much he loves it because faintly he remembers that he’s got Perrie, but Louis has filled his senses. There’s the smoke swirling around them and the car is so _hot_ all of a sudden, and he feels like he could suffocate but just wants to keep pressing his hips back to meet Louis’s because nothing in the world feels better than Louis’s dick buried deep within him.

“L-Lou,” Zayn chokes out.

He bows his head down to rest on his hands as Louis thrusts, hard and rough. Louis shifts to get more comfortable where he’s bending over Zayn in the back of the car, and all of a sudden the angle changes and Zayn’s vision goes white with the pleasure of it. “Oh shit,” he mumbles. “Shit, Lou. R-right there.”

Louis smirks, proud to see Zayn losing it like this underneath him, giving in to the relentless rhythm of his hips. The angle doesn’t change and suddenly Zayn’s speechless, nothing but long moans tumbling from his plump, kiss-swollen lips. Louis can tell he’s close, can hear each gasp and each moan and Zayn’s whole body is shaking with it. Heat pools low in Louis’s belly and he’s about to shoot off, he can tell.

Zayn goes tense just as Louis tries to stave it off, to wait until Zayn’s made a mess beneath him, and it hits him so fast he nearly screams with it. “F-fuck,” Zayn gasps, and he reaches back with one hand to cover Louis’s where it grips his hip painfully tight. Their fingers knot together, a sudden moment of startling intimacy between them.

Zayn tries to squirm away from Louis’s cock because he’s so sensitive now as he comes, clenching hard around Louis, white strands of come shooting fast and hard from his dick, but Louis doesn’t stop and Zayn can’t scoot away. He’s caught between the console and Louis and Louis is relentless with it as he fucks Zayn through it. Zayn’s moans turn to whimpers as Louis finally finds climax, fucking into Zayn over and over again before he’s buried to the hilt and filling the condom.

Exhausted and spent, Zayn drops his head and breathes heavily, lungs gasping for air and burning, desperate for clean, fresh air rather than the dense smoke from their blunts earlier. His hand is still gripping Louis’s, trembling, and they don’t let go. It’s a whole _thing_ , Louis feels like, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s not worth the effort, seeing as Zayn’s got Perrie and they’ve got a baby on the way. There’s no use getting in the way of that.

Both are still foggy-headed as Louis peels his body away from Zayn’s. He makes a mess as he rolls off the condom, laughing as he says, “Good thing we’re both blokes.” Zayn’s still leaned over the console, nearly passed out with exhaustion, and he tries to sidle away as Louis reaches out to wipe up a stripe of come from Zayn’s arse. “We broke the fuckin’ condom,” Louis says.

Zayn vaguely registers what Louis has said, what the implications of it could be, but they’re mates and he doesn’t quite care at this point. The car’s a mess and his clothes are _somewhere_ but Louis just looks smug with it, since he’s managed to tidy himself up and lean back casually in the seat.

“You got spunk everywhere, fuck,” Louis laughs as Zayn tosses himself back on the seat. He’s lazily tugging on his pants as he looks to the console he’d been leaning over. Sure enough, there’s come everywhere. “How hard did you fucking come, mate?” Louis teases.

“Fuck off,” Zayn mumbles. He’s squeezing into his jeans now, and he’s desperate for fresh air.

Louis watches Zayn for a minute and the sobering thought that Zayn’s about to leave and not come back hits him like the weight of a thousand bricks. It chokes him, settles a tightness in his chest that he’s not prepared for. Louis watches Zayn finally get his jeans fastened and he’s slipping his boots back on and he wants to stop him, to make him stay.

But Zayn’s reaching forward to open the door and he’s climbing out and the smoke billows out into the nighttime, swirling around Zayn’s head and up to the heavens, and Louis knows it’s hopeless. “So what, you’re just leaving?” Louis asks, his voice sharp and defensive.

Zayn’s eyes are dark and he looks sweaty and disheveled, and there’s no way in hell Zayn can get away with this if he goes back to his, to where Perrie’s waiting for him. Louis climbs out of the car as Zayn digs in his jacket pocket for a cigarette and his lighter. He lights up, the smoke trailing out of his lips, getting lost in the air between them. He takes three heavy drags before he nods and says, “Yeah. I should.”

“So that’s it then?”

With a cock of his eyebrow, Zayn asks, “What d’you mean? Like, this doesn’t mean we have to stop being friends.”

Louis frowns. “It felt an awful lot like a goodbye. No more drugs. No more parties. No more _fun_.”

“Look,” Zayn says flatly. “I’m about to be a dad, Louis. I can’t be fucking about.”

It’s quiet between them, the silence of the night surrounding them, the cool breeze of autumn chilling them through, magnified by the fact that they’re so sweaty from fucking in the car. Louis runs his hand over his face and tries to keep his composure. “So like I said. No more _fun_ , then.”

“Whatever,” Zayn shakes his head. He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and offers it to Louis. “My dealer, if you want more. He’ll hook you up.” He pulls in another long drag from his cigarette and as he exhales, he says, “We can still hang out. We’ll play Fifa or summat. You’re the one deciding we’re either going to be fucking about or doing nothing at all, not me.”

And then he just leaves, because Louis is being a petulant brat and he knows it’ll only get worse if he sticks around. Angrily, Louis slams the door shut on his car and fumbles in his pocket for his keys. He lets himself into Liam’s tiny flat, thankful for once that Liam’s gone, and throws himself onto Liam’s bed. He knows he reeks of the spliffs he's smoked and Liam will lecture him about it later, but he doesn’t care.

Louis hasn’t got a single care in the world anymore, and it doesn’t even matter because nobody else in the world has got a single worry about him, either. They can’t be bothered, so he’s not either, and he’s perfectly satisfied with that. He’s got to be, because no matter what Louis does, he never seems to be able to fix this feeling, this horrible, swelling loneliness. He thinks now it’s finally settled in to stay. He thinks now he’s found hell, and there’s no going back.

\+ + +

Harry can’t stop staring around himself as he walks through London. He’s wide-eyed and still shocked that he managed to save up enough for this - that his mum agreed to let him run off to London to try to chase his dreams. She’d given him coach tickets for his birthday, and now here he is two weeks later, small town boy in the big city.

She promised she’d take care of him if something happened, if he didn’t make it and came back flat broke, because there’s a talent in him that she knows is meant to be seen by the world. Her son has so much potential and she knows it. Harry knows it. He feels it in his whole body, deep through to his bones, and it’s vibrating, pushing its way out. Harry’s been content to sit by and work at Costa and save up money whilst he works on songs but now - now it’s like he’s going to _burst_ if he doesn’t get out there and perform for people and record something to sell somewhere - doesn’t have to be iTunes or anything big -- just _something_.

He’s got no plans for living, and the only idea he had was Nick. He knows Nick lives around here, was able to charm Nick’s mum into telling him through just a tiny little white lie. Except it was sort of true - he really does want to surprise Nick. It’s just, not in a romantic way. Rather, it’s in more of a _I’m broke can I crash on your couch?_ kind of way.

Harry carries his acoustic guitar in one hand, and he’s got a huge duffle bag slung over his shoulder. It’s all he brought with him. It feels exciting in a way, but it’s also incredibly terrifying because if it doesn’t work out, he’s not sure what he’s going to do. He’s depending on this as his future - he doesn’t have a backup plan.

The first thing he’s got to do is find a place to stay, and he looks down at the map on his mobile to make sure he’s headed in the right direction. He turns up a street in Primrose Hill and stares; Nick’s done really well for himself, apparently, because it’s a rather posh neighborhood. Harry double and triple checks the address before he rings the bell to what should be Nick’s door.

Nervously, he fumbles with the strap on his bag and waits at the door, biting his lip, his guitar sitting on the front step next to him. When the door opens, Harry feels like his stomach has dropped to his ankles because Nick’s there, staring, and rather than smiling and saying hello, he just looks shell-shocked. Harry doesn’t know what to say. Neither, apparently, does Nick.

They stand there for what feels like an eternity, Harry’s heart pounding hard in his chest, his cherry red, bitten lips turning into a frown for a minute before he puts on his best smile and says, “H-hey, Nick. You - you look great.”

Nick still looks surprised, and he doesn’t reply at first. Harry shifts the bag on his shoulder and takes a deep breath, terrified that Nick’s going to shut the door in his face. Instead, Nick’s quiet - actually _quiet_ \- when he asks, “What are you doing here, Harry?”

“I’m - well,” Harry says hesitantly, “I’m in town.”

“For how long?” Nick asks. He’s speaking quicker now, louder, and Harry wonders if maybe he’s excited to see him, even just a little.

Harry shrugs and confesses, “I was sort of hoping I could bunk here while I sorted that out?” Nick looks surprised. He still hasn’t asked Harry inside, and as he stands awkwardly out on the doorstep, Harry says, “I’m in London to try to get my music heard. I want to be a musician, like to really go for it, and I can’t do that in Colchester. I had to come out here.” He’s got no idea how in the world he’s going to make it happen now that he’s actually gotten to London, but he’s going to try. He might even ask Nick if he knows who he should talk to, since he’s on the radio and all. Assuming Nick will even let him stay at his flat, that is.

“D’you have a job? A room?” Nick asks.

Harry shakes his head. “I’ve only just gotten in on the coach. I haven’t sorted anything else out. Not yet.”

“God,” Nick says with a dry laugh. “You’re like something out of a movie, aren’t you?”

It’s nerve-wracking, standing in front of Nick like this, still waiting anxiously to find out if he’s allowed in, if he’s got a place to stay or not. There’s worry, because Nick so easily said goodbye to Harry once - he could be capable of doing it again. But Harry’s always seen the best in people and hopes Nick won’t do that - crosses his fingers that Nick will understand, will have missed him in return as much as Harry’s missed Nick.

Harry’s quiet, waiting for an answer. Nick cards a hand through his quiff and sighs before he says, “Alright, come in. Can’t leave you out on the streets now, can I?”

Harry frowns. “If… if it’s too weird, I can go.”

Nick reaches out and puts his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Nick says. “I’m just surprised. You could’ve like, called ahead or summat, you know?”

“I know,” Harry nods. “I’m sorry. I just… wasn’t sure this was actually happening until I was on the way.”

“S’alright, you’re here now,” Nick says. He still doesn’t look entirely thrilled that Harry has dropped in so unexpectedly, but he’s not hostile so Harry thinks it’s okay, at least for a little while. “Come on in.”

Harry follows Nick inside, and he can’t stop staring at what a lovely place Nick has made for himself. “I didn’t realize your job was such a big deal,” Harry says softly as he looks around at all the fancy decorations and the plush looking furniture. There are lovely paintings all over the walls and the same amount of space as Harry’s whole family has at his mum’s house.

“Yeah, it’s at the BBC,” Nick explains as he leads Harry through his flat and into a guest room.

Harry’s eyes widen. “Why didn’t you say?”

Nick scoffs and stands in the doorway as Harry sets his things down. “I didn’t want to,” he says. “It shouldn’t have mattered, and besides, word would eventually get back to Louis and I shudder to think what sort of rubbish he’d have to say if he found _that_ out.”

“Louis wouldn’t do that,” Harry argues.

“Harry, love,” Nick says, though he sounds a bit condescending, “You don’t know him the same way I do.”

That stings, because Harry’s sick and tired of not knowing what happened, but nobody will tell him. He’s quiet as he sets his things down. He looks up at Nick, worried that maybe he’s imposing more than Nick’s letting on. “Are you sure you don’t mind me staying here for a while?” Harry asks. “I haven’t got any money yet, but I’m going to try, Nick. I’m going out as soon as I can to find work and get my music heard, and I -,”

“It’s fine, Harry,” Nick says gently. “I’m not going to start charging you rent. Make me food once in a while and make your dreams come true and you’re good to stay here as long as you need.”

It’s more generosity and warmth than Harry had been expecting - he’d been assuming he’d be bunked on a couch and that he’d have to do more, but Nick doesn’t need that anymore. Nick doesn’t need anybody because he’s done for himself what he’d always wanted: he got himself a proper radio job. Harry stands up and walks over to Nick, wrapping him up in a big hug. “I’ve really missed you, Nick,” he says softly. “I’m sorry I left and never said goodbye.”

“It’s alright,” Nick whispers into Harry’s hair. He can feel how Harry’s grown, that he’s taller and stronger, fits differently in his embrace. “It was my fault, anyhow.”

“If I ever overstay my welcome, just say so, okay?” Harry says, slowly separating himself from Nick. He’s reluctant about it, but he’s not prepared to dig up old memories yet. He sits down on the edge of the bed and looks up at Nick.

Nick smiles fondly, crossing his arms and leaning in the doorway of the room. “Don’t worry about that, Harry,” he says. “I honestly don’t think that’s possible.”

Harry leans back to look at Nick and for a moment, it feels like they’d never broken up, like nothing ever changed, because Nick’s smiling at him the way he used to. It makes Harry’s heart flutter in his chest and he suddenly feels far less terrified, being the little guy in the big city. He feels like with Nick there for him, he can do this. That maybe his dreams really will come true, just as Nick’s have. He feels happier and freer than he has in a long time.

\+ + +

Eleanor is perched at her desk with a ponytail done messily atop her head, hairs flopping in her face as she tries to study. She’s been at it for hours, pouring over the same books all evening, and quite frankly the smallest thing has been irritating her ever since. It’s not even exams week and she’s got a lot to study, though finally exams are within sight, and the summer holiday too. She’s grateful when she hears her phone buzz, over and over again. It’s a phone call, and she’s ready for the reprieve. “Hello?” she asks.

She’d looked at the caller ID and wondered why Louis was calling her, but she figured it was best not to question too much and to just answer. Louis is awfully impatient, at the best of times. “El?” he asks softly.

Louis sniffles on the line and Eleanor sets down her highlighter and pencil to focus solely on him. She crosses her legs underneath her where she sits on her desk chair and asks, “Yeah, it’s me Lou. What’s wrong?”

“I’m sad,” he confesses. “I fucking hate it, but I’m sad. _Fuck_.”

He’s still sniffling and Eleanor can hear a sob escape, too, and she asks, “Are you sober right now, Louis?”

“I dunno,” he confesses. His voice is shaking, and Eleanor doesn’t know what that means. “I wasn’t. Dunno when it wears off. I just -”

“Louis,” she says, her voice firmer, though she doesn’t want to scare him away. Eleanor feels worried now, alarmed that Louis has put himself in danger. “What do you mean, when it wears off? Were you drinking again? Smoking weed?”

Louis lets out another sob and Eleanor waits patiently, one finger playing with a hole in her chunky scarf around her neck for something to do, a place to put her nervous energy as she waits. “I… it was a pill,” Louis explains. He’s speaking slowly now, and his voice is still shaking and sounds thin and weak. “At the club. Proper rager, all night. Been on the high all day. Molly, it was. Tasted awful, but _god_ it felt good.”

“You took Molly last night?” Eleanor asks.

“Uh huh,” Louis says. “It’s no big deal. I’ve done it before. This bloke - we were dancing and he gave it to me. It was fun at first.” He sniffles and she hears shuffling on the line. “Now I’m cold and tired and so _sad_.”

Eleanor bites her lip and perches her phone between her shoulder and cheek so she can pull open her laptop. She types in the drug on Google and waits for results. When she finds a good website she scrolls to the side effects and there, in black and white on her screen, is what Louis is describing to her. “You’re coming down from the high,” she explains. “Where are you? Your voice keeps shaking.”

“A park, I think,” Louis says. “It’s cold and I’m so sad I keep _crying_ and… I dunno what to do, El. I don’t.”

Now she just wishes she were home. She’d venture out to find him, no matter what. He’s got to be warmed up and he’s got to rest off the remainder of his high or else it could seriously hurt him. The more Eleanor reads off the site, the more she worries. A knot is thick and heavy in her stomach as she reads it all over. “Listen - I’m not in Colchester this weekend, but how about you call Liam? He can come get you. I’ll even text him to let him know you’re going to call, how’s that?”

Louis lets out a sob and he wipes at his eyes. “But - Liam doesn’t want me around anymore,” Louis protests, and he’s getting emotional and crying right there on the phone and Eleanor doesn’t think Louis is quite as sober as she’d originally thought.

“He’ll come get you, I promise. I’ll call him and make sure, alright?” she says. “For now I want you to see if you can find a building to sit down in. Go get water at a petrol station or something. One of us will call you very soon.”

“El, I’m sorry,” Louis protests. “Please, don’t hang up.”

“I’ll call you right back, okay? And once you’re sober again, we’ll have a proper chat,” she reassures him. “I love you, Louis. Don’t do anything else stupid, alright?”

Louis snorts, and with a thin, shivering voice, he says, “Promise.”

Eleanor rings off and immediately dials Liam’s number. It takes three tries before he answers, and when he does, he sounds absolutely baffled. “Liam?” she asks before he can even say hello. “Louis’s just called. He doesn’t know where he is and he’s coming off a high. A bad one.”

“This isn’t the best time,” Liam starts awkwardly. He’s so used to Louis going out and getting high and making bad decisions that he doesn’t really think much about this instance. “He gets high all the time, anyway.”

“No, Liam, listen,” Eleanor says again, her voice firmer. “He’s coming off a high on molly. You know - _ecstasy_? It’s really bad. He’s in a park somewhere shivering and crying and doesn’t know where he is. He asked me for help, but I’m all the way up in Manchester. I can’t possibly make it there. Please Liam, he’s freezing and so miserable. He was _crying_.”

Liam hesitates, and for a minute Eleanor worries that things back in Colchester are worse than Louis had let on. He’s texted a few times, telling her all the shit that’s been happening, talking through how miserable he’s been feeling lately, but if Louis’ best friend for his whole life can’t be arsed to go get him when he’s lost and at risk, then things must be really awful. “Alright,” Liam sighs, though he sounds reluctant.

“I told him one of us would call. I think you should, first. You need to figure out where he is, and all, since he hasn’t got a clue,” Eleanor says. “Once he’s settled in somewhere, text me, alright? He’ll want to talk.”

“He can talk to me,” Liam protests.

Eleanor sighs. “Yes, well, he feels like he can’t. That’s part of the problem. It’s why he called me rather than you,” she explains. “I dunno what’s happening between you guys, but it’s bad, Liam. He’s high or drunk more often than he’s not, now. I hate that I can’t do anything.”

Liam’s quiet. When he finally speaks again, he sounds incredibly emotional and it hurts Eleanor to hear it in his voice. “I had no idea. I’ll talk to him,” he says.

“Thanks,” Eleanor says. She really wishes she could help Louis, so badly.

“I’ll let you know what happens,” Liam promises, and then rings off.

Liam looks up at Sophia apologetically, feeling awful that he’s just accepted a call in the middle of their first fancy, romantic date. He sighs and says, “That was Eleanor. I guess Louis is coming off a high - he took ecstasy, the bloody idiot - and now he’s crying and shivering somewhere around Essex. She’s asked me to go find him since he hasn’t got a clue where he is.”

Sophia frowns, but she reaches across the table to cover Liam’s hand with hers. At least they’ve already gotten through the three courses of their dinner, she thinks. “It’s okay,” she insists. “Do you need help?”

“But you got all dressed up,” Liam protests. “You’re in a dress and you’ve gotten your nails done, and you’re in fancy shoes… you don’t really want to wander around town looking for _Louis_ , do you?”

She shrugs. “I can take my shoes off,” she says. “Besides, he’s your best friend.”

“According to Eleanor, he feels like he’s not,” Liam frowns. He’s looking down at his empty plate with a furrowed brow, like he’s confused, or hurt. “I dunno what’s going on with him lately. I mean I do, I guess, because he says it feels like we’ve all moved on without him, except we haven’t, really. We’re all still here in town. He still comes over to see me on weekends. He still goes out to get drinks, and I know for a fact that he sometimes meets Niall at the pub for karaoke. He’s not alone, and he knows it.”

Sophia’s frowning and squeezing Liam’s hand gently, as a sign of comfort. “This is the perfect opportunity to prove it, then,” Sophia says. “Show him how much you care. Go find him and get him home.”

“I dunno what to do with him,” Liam confesses. “ _Ecstasy_ , Soph. He’s gone and done ecstasy again.”

“He’s done it before?” she asks.

“Just the once, with Zayn,” Liam explains. “A long time ago. Back when Zayn first started dealing. They fooled around, I guess.”

Sophia starts to stand up, and Liam reaches out to reconnect their hands. “You don’t have to come with me, you know,” he insists.

She gives him a sad smile and says, “Yes, I do. For you. I’ll look up how to help him come down from his high whilst you’re driving, and afterwards I’ll give you a good cuddle because you’ll probably need it, after dealing with him.”

“You’re so perfect, Soph,” Liam says as he stands. He leans in to press a soft kiss to her cheek, and he gives her a meaningful look, full of adoration and appreciation. It’s still astonishing to him, that this girl he thought was way out of his league is his - all his - and that she’s so willing to be there for him in a time like this.

Liam rings Louis as they’re walking out to the car, and he puts him on speaker once they’re out on the road. Louis is confused, his slurred speech just barely making sense as they weave through the streets of Colchester in search of him. It takes twenty minutes and several panicked u-turns before they spot him, curled up and tiny in a bus shelter near the River Coline where it flows through Castle Park. He’s got his thin Adidas windbreaker wrapped around himself, his knees tucked to his chest inside of it, and he’s clearly shivering. They pull to the kerb and Liam rushes out, Sophia close behind.

Louis’s eyes are unfocused, and his hair’s a greasy mess, and when he looks up and sees Liam and Sophia all dressed up, he starts to cry all over again. “Oh no,” he mutters. “Oh no, I’ve ruined your night.”

He doesn’t sound sarcastic, or angry, or rude, just sad. So, so sad. It’s a bad high, Liam can tell even though he doesn’t know much about anything, and the chemicals in Louis’s brain are really fucking up his thought processes because now he’s shaking his head saying, “No, it’s okay. You don’t have to be here. I’m okay. I’m fine. I’m not sad.” He’s rambling, and his hands are shaking, and Liam doesn’t listen to a word.

Liam sits down on the bench next to Louis and shrugs off his jacket to put around Louis’s shoulders. He feels a bit ridiculous, sitting there in trousers and a nice shirt, all dressed up for his romantic date with Sophia, but rescuing his best friend who seems to be on a downward spiral. “Hush, Louis, we’re going to get you home,” Liam promises. “We’ll get you nice and warm, cheer you up a bit.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis starts to whisper, but Liam just shakes his head.

“It’s alright,” he says. “C’mon, can you stand?”

Louis nods, and he steps up on wobbly feet. Liam holds his waist and helps him walk to the car, and Liam gently coaxes him into the back seat. Just a few feet after leaving the park, Louis passes out, and Liam decides to just take him back to his apartment. Sophia’s along, too, and it’s not exactly how he’d imagined his evening going, but it’ll have to do.

Liam struggles up the stairs with Louis, and by the time they get to his bedroom, Louis is sweating and Liam takes his jacket off Louis’s shoulders right away. “Soph?” he calls out. She said she’d get him some water, but now Liam’s worried. Louis has gone from shivering to sweating rather fast. “Soph? Come here!”

Louis whimpers again, and he leans against Liam with a groan. Sophia appears in the doorway after a few seconds, out of breath from sprinting up the stairs, a glass of water in her hand. “What’s the matter?” she asks.

“Why’s he burning up now?” Liam asks, tension thick in his voice. “He was freezing just half an hour ago.”

“It messes with your body temperature,” Sophia explains. She kneels down in front of where they’re sitting on the edge of the bed and offers the glass of water to Louis.

He’s teary-eyed as he takes it, and she says, “Take little sips, okay?”

Louis nods and obeys. Liam’s heart is racing, worry inching through his every vein as he watches his friend struggle with this so badly. “Louis, it’s okay,” he says as he watches Louis let out a sob as he lowers the cup from his lips. “It’ll be okay.”

Sophia rubs his knee comfortingly, and then looks up at Liam with sympathy, and it’s a shit way to end their first romantic date, Liam thinks. _Sorry_ , he mouths to Sophia. She reaches over for Liam’s free hand and gives it a squeeze. She offers him a smile and leans in to kiss his cheek, and then says, “I’m going to borrow some trackies and a shirt, alright? I think we’ll be here a while.”

Liam nods, and he rubs Louis’s back as Louis sips at the water, little tears falling down his cheeks. “I’m sorry you’re sad, Louis,” Liam says, his voice soft and gentle. “I want to fix it, okay?”

Louis sniffles and doesn’t respond. Liam hates that. He hates that all he can do now is help Louis climb under the covers and pass out, that there’s nothing he can possibly do that night to fix anything.

In the morning, Louis has only vague recollections of the night before - and no idea that he’d cried his eyes out on Liam’s shoulder, Sophia there as an audience. Liam offers Louis tea and toast, but doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry.”

Liam turns as he’s walking out of his room, surprised by the sound of Louis’s hoarse voice. He looks over his shoulder, puzzled, to see Louis looking absolutely humiliated where he’s still curled up in bed. “I’m sorry I got high and you had to take care of me,” he explains. “I’m sorry I ruined your date.”

Part of Liam bitterly thinks that he’s not sorry, at least for that last part, because Louis has been pissed about Liam being in a relationship since it started. But at the same time, he looks so broken and sad that Liam knows it’s genuine; he knows Louis doesn’t know how to work through all of this, but that he’s trying - in all the worst ways.

“It’s alright, Lou,” Liam nods. “Get some rest, alright? And call Eleanor.”

Louis nods dutifully and sips his tea for a few minutes before he dials Eleanor’s number. He’s grateful for her, having her to talk to and help him work through things. By the end of the call, he feels much better, and he can’t wait until summer holiday when she’s promised to come visit him before she interns in London for the summer.

He only wishes he can hold out until then. It’s hard, keeping it all together when he just wants to crumble, already cracking at the seams. But his friends need him to keep it together, and Eleanor’s being so sweet - he can’t burden them anymore. He doesn’t want to.

\+ + +

Niall’s never been to this bar before, and he’s not sure what to expect when he crosses the threshold.

It’s a nice place with your usual dim lighting and plenty of chattering, but it’s more indie types - more people like Harry - and of course it’s the place where Harry gets to do his first big gig. Niall wouldn’t miss it for the world though, not now that Harry’s one of his best friends.

He waves when he spots Harry up front, sorting out his guitar and the microphone and the lighting on stage (it’s set just at the right height so he’s facing the lamp head on, blinding himself - his face when he realized was awfully funny, Niall thinks). Niall goes to the bar and gets a pint of Guinness and then takes a seat on a barstool, not wanting to monopolize one of the tables for the sizable crowd Harry’s gathered.

It’s mostly people he’s encountered while busking - he took to advertising his show on his guitar case every time someone came by to give him a little listen on the sidewalk. Niall’s genuinely impressed with Harry and everyone he’s managed to captivate just with his charm and little snippets of music on the streets. He knows Harry wants more, and he genuinely hopes he achieves it one day. It’s a hard thing, breaking into the music industry. Niall had shied away from the challenge, but if anyone can successfully do it, it’s Harry.

Sometimes Niall wishes he’d pursued music more, but he’s satisfied in his paediatric nursing program now. It’s May and he’s nearly done with his first year, and he wouldn’t change anything. The hard work feels rewarding, and he’s content with his career choice. Besides, if staying in one place to do work is exhausting, he can’t imagine how much touring would take it out of him.

The show starts a few minutes later, with Harry introducing himself and thanking everyone profusely for showing up to see him. He promises to take cover requests later in the evening, but says he first wants to share some of his original songs with them. He looks incredibly nervous, but he’s purposely worn a plain white shirt so nobody can see him sweating, and he’s got his hair tied back in a scarf and his black skinny jeans look ragged and rustic in the heavily-shadowed lighting. His tan Chelsea boots are worn too, but he looks like a man all these people would love to see.

Niall gives a whistle as Harry sets his guitar on his knee, and he grins as he watches Harry blush and smile, dimples accentuated in the shadows of all the lighting aimed right at him. Harry might be nervous, but as soon as he begins to play his song, he looks at home on the stage. Niall takes another drink of his beer and gives Harry his full attention. He cat calls and makes sure Harry knows he’s there between songs, and before long Harry’s loosened up and he’s well into his set, looking relaxed, like he’s done this a million times before.

Niall’s on pint number two, taking it slow that night, and he’s content. Usually he likes being social, likes going places with his mates so he’s got someone to talk to or leave with or make more plans with, but showing up to the bar to see Harry all by himself hadn’t been the worst idea in the world. Niall likes the solitude, from time to time. Sure, a few times he’s looked over thinking Liam might be at his side, so he can say something to him, but the disappointment washes away fast enough.

It’s not until Harry takes a short break before the cover song portion of his set that Niall gets to chat to someone.

“You must know Harry, huh?”

Niall spins around, the voice coming from behind him, but when he does he’s met with a broad, strong chest. He looks up at the guy, cheeks flushing just the bit as he becomes flustered by the sheer size of this guy. He’s tall, towering nearly a foot taller than Niall, and he definitely looks strong. “I… yeah,” Niall nods. He sits back down on his barstool, hoping this guy will do the same.

He’s very attractive, Niall notes as he feels his cheeks turn deep red. Something about him is familiar, the smile maybe, or his eyes. He’s dark haired, dark eyed, and incredibly handsome. He could probably sling Niall over his shoulder or carry him around, and that stirs something in Niall that he doesn’t know what to do with. Niall reaches out for his pint glass, for something to do with his hands, but the barman’s already taken it since he’d finished it off. “Can I get you a pint?” the man asks, and Niall just nods. “I’ll have me usual,” the man says to the barman. Niall watches as he fills a Guinness from the tap. “And you?”

They both look at Niall, who seems shell-shocked all of a sudden. “Same,” he croaks out. He swallows hard, cheeks still flushed, and looks back at this guy who’s just sat down next to him and offered him a drink. Niall’s still not sure how to process this - everything is so different from the way Harry had picked him up at uni.

“I’m Niall, but me friends call me Bressie, or Brez,” the man says, holding out his hand.

Niall chuckles as he takes his hand, though it falters when he feels how big Bressie’s hand is compared to his own. “I’m Niall as well,” he replies, his voice light. He swallows hard and says, “Me friends just call me Niall.”

“Small world, two Nialls in the same bar,” Bressie smiles.

Niall nods, and he counters, “Small world, finding another Irishman out in England.”

“Fair point,” Bressie nods.

The barman slides a Guinness out to Niall, his third of the night, and Niall takes it timidly. He downs a large gulp of it before he looks at Bressie. “So… are you a student, too?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Bressie says. “I’m in my second year, doing occupational therapy. I’m a bit of a mature student, but the time off before starting uni was best, really.”

Niall nods. “And you go to school here in London?”

“Nah, University of Essex, in Colchester” he corrects. “I’ve just got some friends out here that I’m visiting. You?”

“Yeah, same,” Niall replies. “I’m doing paediatrics. Nursing. I’m just a first year, though.”

Bressie smiles and says, “I wonder how many times we’ve crossed paths and didn’t know it.”

Niall’s chest tightens and he doesn’t know why the thought of that makes him feel this way but it does - the idea that this man, this incredibly handsome, sweet man, could have been near him for months and he’d had no idea. He likes that thought, likes knowing he’s got excuses to talk to him now, if he’d like. If Niall can form words, that is - it’s hard for him to do, given how much he’d like to just stare at Bressie, take in his looks and his size, and Niall swallows hard. He averts his eyes away from Bressie as he wonders if his height and build can imply anything else about size - things Niall would very much like to discover.

“So how do you know Harry?” Bressie asks, looking like he’s not sure why Niall’s gotten so quiet again.

Niall turns back to Bressie and feels bad for giving off the wrong signals - he definitely wants Bressie, in any way he can have him. He takes another big drink of his Guinness and finally feels that looseness that comes with enough alcohol. He smiles and says, “He’s one of me mates. It took forever for him to get to this point. Y’know like, wanting to perform for a crowd? He didn’t mind covers, but we told him he had to start playing his original stuff.”

“He’s good,” Bressie says. “Very talented.”

“Yeah, he is,” Niall agrees.

Harry’s eyes seek out Niall in the crowd as he sits back down at his stool in front of them microphone. Niall waves, and Harry waves right back, which he follows up by cheekily blowing a kiss in Niall’s direction. “Is uh… is he your boyfriend?” Bressie asks, attempting to sound casual.

“Nah,” Niall shakes his head. He turns back to Bressie as Harry starts in on a cover of ‘Torn’ and says, “We had this thing, one night at a party, but like… he’s totally caught up in this other guy, and he’s not really my type I guess? He’s great, but we haven’t got much in common other than music.”

Bressie takes a drink of his own beer and then asks, a smirk on his face, “So what _is_ your type, then?”

Niall’s cheeks flush deep red and he looks up at Bressie, swallowing hard. Bressie quirks his eyebrow.

“Tall,” Niall begins. Bressie looks pleased. “Irish,” Niall adds, which makes Bressie smile wider. “And good at golf.”

For a minute Bressie had thought Niall was just listing off his qualities, because unless he’s misread something somewhere, Niall is clearly into him. “So if I asked you out for a game of golf, I might have a shot?” Bressie wonders.

“D’you golf, or are you going to try to learn in a few days?” Niall asks curiously.

Bressie smiles. “I’ve got a whole kit for it. I golf all the time. It helps me get out of me head a bit and just relax. Uni is tough sometimes.”

Niall hadn’t known that Bressie golfed, too. It feels almost too good to be true, finding someone that meets all the basic things Niall had hoped for in someone - they didn’t even have to be a man, but hey, he’s not picky - Bressie is gorgeous, and Niall really thinks he’d like this guy if they went out proper. He’d just need to get past his nerves without alcohol, is all.

“So was that a yes, then? Can I take you out sometime, maybe for a game of golf?” Bressie asks hopefully.

Niall’s heart is racing in his chest, but he smiles and nods, and he replies, “Yeah, we can do that. Soon?”

He knows he sounds eager, maybe over-eager, but he’s so wrapped up in the idea of what he and Bressie could have, about how Bressie’s sort of perfect in every sense of the word, that he doesn’t want to wait. “I’ll get us a tee time then,” Bressie says. He fumbles in his pocket for his phone and unlocks it right there at the bar. “Next Friday work alright for you?”

Niall nods. “Yeah, Friday’s great.” It’s too far away, in his opinion, but he’ll take it. It’s something. It’s a _date_.

Bressie holds out his phone and says, “Alright then. Give me your number and I’ll give you the details. Do you live on campus right now?”

“Yeah,” Niall says as he taps his mobile number into Bressie’s phone.

“Brilliant. There’s a course not too far from there,” he says. When Niall hands him back his phone, Bressie types out a quick text message and Niall feels his own phone vibrate in his pocket. “That’s me,” Bressie smiles. “You can text me anytime.”

That puts a big smile on Niall’s flushed face, and it’s at that moment that the setlist stops and Harry’s getting everyone’s attention. “Alright, now, this is my last song of the night and I want to make it special for all of you,” he says. “It’s one of my favourite songs, even though it’s a bit of a cliche. I want all of you to find someone near you, someone you think looks like a nice person, and I want you to ask them to dance.” 

Niall tries not to look to eager as he looks over at Bressie. Thankfully, Bressie’s already smiling at him, standing from his barstool to move closer to Niall. Harry glances over just in time for Niall to catch it, and he thinks maybe Harry’s conspiring against him. He wouldn’t put it past him. “When the song starts, I want you to dance with them and talk to them and have a really good time, alright? Like I said, this is one of my favourites, and I hope you all like it too, at least my version of it. Anyway, here’s ‘Wonderwall’.”

Niall snorts with laughter as he’s finishing off his pint, the beer nearly coming out his nose. Bressie’s laughing right along with him, holding Niall by the crook of his elbow as he doubles over in laughter. “Easy there, chief.”

“Harry’s a piece of work,” Niall laughs as he stands from his barstool.

Gravity’s working against the alcohol now, and Niall feels a bit dizzy, be it either because of the beer or Bressie’s touch, he’s not sure. They walk out to the dance floor and Harry winks at Niall, and yep, Niall was right. This was all part of Harry’s plan.

Niall reaches out for Bressie, feeling so tiny all of a sudden, now that his hands are wrapped around Bressie’s shoulders and he’s got his warm, large hands on Niall’s waist. It’s nice, though, and Niall’s always wondered what it would be like to dance with a man. He’s danced with girls all sorts of times, and maybe he’s been known to dance on the thigh of a really hot bloke whilst at a dance club, but he’s never done anything like this.

As the song continues on, Niall’s dizziness subsides, and he falls into an easy rhythm with Bressie, swaying in circles there on the dance floor. It’s the closest thing to heaven he’s ever felt.

It’s a Thursday night, and Niall’s cursing the world because he’s got to go to class the next morning. If he didn’t, he’d probably do whatever he could to spend all evening with Bressie, going on a pub crawl maybe, or out to a club, or even just back to his so they could watch movies and eat junk food. Something about Bressie has magnetically pulled Niall to him. His heart races whenever their eyes meet and he’s got this urge to just - be _near_ him. Not even in a dirty way, just a comforting way. Just a way where Niall can look at him or have some sort of physical contact, something as seemingly insignificant as an elbow bump or maybe if he’s lucky, they could hold hands.

The night comes to a close far too quickly for Niall’s liking, and before they know it, they’re walking out the door. Bressie walks in stride next to Niall and asks, “D’you need a ride back?”

Niall was just going to catch the train, but a ride back with Bressie sounds much better. “I might fall asleep, but… yeah, cheers,” Niall replies.

He follows Bressie to his car and climbs into the passenger’s seat. As predicted, the warm hum of alcohol in his veins coupled with the way driving always makes him drowsy has Niall quickly nodding off to sleep. Bressie, bless him, keeps the car quiet and doesn’t say another word until they’re parked by the halls and it’s time for Niall to go inside, to climb into his own bed. Bressie’s gentle when he wakes him, jostling him just barely enough to wake him, but when Niall opens his eyes and the first thing he sees is Bressie, all he can think to do is smile.

With a groan, Niall climbs out of the car and Bressie follows. They walk together down the pavement, still silent. Niall’s shoulders are hunched and he’s walking as close to Bressie has he can get away with, to hopefully soak in some of his warmth. “I’ll text you about the golf game,” Bressie says as the halls come into view.

“Great,” Niall says with a smile. He really is excited about it, though he fears he doesn’t sound like he is.

They stop at the end of the sidewalk, the dorm just a few strides away. “I’ll see you soon, then,” Bressie says, turning to face Niall.

Blushing, Niall nods and says, “Yeah, sounds great.”

It’s quiet and still, no noise but the dull breeze pushing through the trees, rushing a stray pile of leaves along the pavement. Niall doesn’t move, doesn’t stop looking up at Bressie yet, because he feels like this isn’t over, like they’ve still got something left of their evening before Bressie walks away.

As soon as Bressie starts to lean in, Niall’s eyes flutter closed, and his chest feels so tight he can hardly breathe, he’s so full of anticipation. Their lips touch softly, gently, so sweetly that Niall can barely believe it’s happening. He reaches up to rest a hand on Bressie’s shoulder, keeping him there for a few seconds longer, until Bressie slowly pulls away. He smiles at Niall, and bashfully Niall smiles back. “G’night, chief,” Bressie grins.

“Night,” Niall replies, his voice just barely above a whisper.

Slowly, Bressie leans back and starts to walk away, smiling the whole time. Niall stays rooted to the spot until Bressie’s completely out of his line of sight, and then goes into his dorm, a huge grin on his face. Of all the things that could have happened at Harry’s gig, that was the last thing Niall expected, but it was the best part of the night, for sure.

Golfing with Bressie on Friday could not arrive soon enough.

\+ + +

Nick doesn’t like the feeling of being back in Colchester. He doesn’t get reminiscent like he used to. Now it’s just all old haunts and ghosts he doesn’t want to revisit. He’d only come for the weekend, to celebrate his dad’s birthday, but it still feels like too much time.

The bar he used to work at has changed; their staff is terrible when it comes to service and there’s less room to dance with the new renovations. Nick had come by to visit, but everyone with whom he used to work has gone, which is how he finds himself at the corner seat of the bar, nursing a drink and watching the crowd.

Louis is here, though it doesn’t surprise him. From what he’s gathered, Louis is always here or at some other bar, drinking. Harry converses in hushed voices with Liam a lot, on secret phone calls that Nick’s not meant to be hearing. Nick frowns as he watches Louis take two shots in succession, notices the way Louis doesn’t even flinch at the hard sting of alcohol anymore. He looks sickly and pale, too, his skin losing its brightness, its softness. Louis’s hair always looks unwashed, and his eyes and cheeks are sunken just a bit.

Nick can’t help but wonder if this is all his fault. He tries to drown away such pitiful thoughts with another sip of his drink, but it doesn’t work. He just keeps glancing up, keeping check on Louis, just in case.

It’s Louis’s third night in a row drinking, second at this bar, and he doesn’t feel like he’s done enough. He never does anymore. Stan’s been the only guy he’s been able to go out with lately, someone he’d known in school, hung out with occasionally - usually his backup friend whenever Liam had something going on and couldn’t spend time with Louis. They’re not all that close, but at least it’s someone, so Louis isn’t wandering into pubs alone.

He’s sipping at a Jack Daniels and Coke when he realizes Stan’s ditched him. Louis tips back the last of his drink and sets out in search of him. He checks the loo - men’s and women’s both - but none of the moaning couples include Stan. He checks back at the bar, because Stan had sworn to go hard tonight, keeping the shots rolling every thirty minutes or so. He’s not there either.

By this point Louis’s getting angry, having been ditched within a few minutes of getting their drinks at the bar. He hates it, hates how bitter he feels, the sour taste in his mouth that has nothing to do with the alcohol. He jabs a few people with his elbows to make a space for him at the bar, and then asks for two shots of tequila. He downs them in sequence and that’s when he spots him, Stan, over in the corner with a blonde girl Louis doesn’t recognize. He’s got her on his lap, and he’s got a hand under her shirt, and Louis hates what it does to him.

He’s got enough alcohol in him to feel like the whole thing is an out of body experience - like he’s watching everything he does from the outside looking in.

“Stan, what the fuck,” he says as he approaches. He’s got to shout to be heard and even then, Stan barely pays him any mind. Louis kicks Stan’s shin hard and shouts, “Wha’d’you think you’re doing?”

Stan looks up, shoots Louis an annoyed look. The girl looks nervously between Louis and Stan, and she’s seconds away from getting up and leaving, Louis knows it. “Just chatting with Jane, here,” Stan says, hoping Louis will catch the hint.

“You fucking ditched me,” Louis accuses him, his words slurring together more than he could hear.

“It’s just a chat,” Stan replies.

Jane stands up from Stan’s lap, backing away nervously. She’s got friends nearby, they’re flocking to her, too, and Stan glares at Louis as he stands. “When did you get so clingy?” he asks with a harsh laugh, walking closer to Louis.

Rage courses through Louis’s veins and every muscle in his body is tense. He’s glaring at Stan and leaning, in fists clenched, and he feels like he’s turning into the Hulk. Words don’t find their way to his mouth. Instead, Louis just reaches out and shoves Stan, hard. Stan stumbles back right into the chair where he’d been sitting before, and Jane and her friends are reaching out for him as the other blokes sitting nearby stand up in solidarity. Louis doesn’t know if they’re friends with Stan or not.

Louis tries to push through the guys, and he’s shouting angrily that Stan’s the one who’s changed, the one who’s a total arsehole for ditching him for a bird the first chance he got, and he doesn’t even register the arms holding him back. Big, strong arms that envelope his torso, pinning his arms to his chest, and the body that drags him away from the fight. Louis is drunk and he’s angry and he’s lashing out with his legs now that his arms have been restrained.

It isn’t until he’s thrown out into the harsh winter chill of Colchester again that Louis calms down. They’re in an alley, and it’s dark and smells absolutely rank, and Louis is still clenching his fists but he’s not swinging kicks or punches.

The urge returns, however when he realizes it was Nick Grimshaw, of all people, who pulled him out of that fight. He hadn’t realized that Nick was so strong. “Why the fuck’d you stop me?” he asks, slurring and nearly toppling over as he tries to walk on the uneven cobblestones of the alleyway. “I could’ve had him.”

Nick walks up to Louis, looking sad, and says, “No, you couldn’t have. He would have flattened you, Tommo.”

“Don’t call me that,” Louis snaps, looking fierce and protective of himself as Nick draws nearer. Louis trips over his own feet and lands with an _oomph_ against the brick wall of the bar. Nick keeps approaching and Louis says, “Only friends can call me that! You’re not my friend anymore - you’re not… you’re not my _anything_. Anymore.”

Louis hates that that makes Nick look even sadder. “Come on,” Nick says softly, hooking his hand behind Louis’s elbow. “Let’s get you home.”

“No.”

Nick sighs. He’s seen Louis like this before, but it was so, so different. He remembers when Louis would get this wankered, only he’d be smiling and hugging everyone within sight, rather than trying to swing a punch at anyone who has something even remotely inclined towards negative to say. He’s changed, and it’s not for the best, and Nick’s not so sure what happened to that cocksure Louis Tomlinson he used to know, but he finds himself missing him.

Louis may not want to go with Nick, but he doesn’t fight it, and Nick has to let go of Louis’s elbow in favor of holding his waist just to get Louis out of the alley and into the Addison Lee. It’s still early enough, they can grab one without having to wait. Halfway to Louis’s house, Louis begs the driver to stop, and Nick opens his door to reveal the kerb, the very thing Louis needs. Louis drapes himself over Nick without worrying how it might look, and he wretches the contents of his stomach onto the ground outside the car. “You get the car dirty, you pay,” the driver warns.

“He’s fine,” Nick insists. “It all made it outside.” He kicks his heel over the rim of the door, making the small specks of vomit disappear so the driver doesn’t know that Louis missed just a little bit.

Louis wipes his mouth on his sleeve and doesn’t even manage to totally remove himself from Nick before his eyes are drooping shut. He ends up sleeping, mouth dropped open rather unbeautifully where he dozes off on Nick’s shoulder. Only Fizzy’s home when Nick reaches the door with a drunken Louis putting all his weight on his side. He’d been too heavy to carry, a dead sleepy weight in Nick’s arms, so Nick made him wake up. Louis is out of it though, far drunker than Nick had originally thought.

“Hey Fiz,” Nick says sheepishly. He knows full well that Louis’s whole family despises him. “I just need to get him into bed. He’s been drunk under the table, sad to say.”

Fizzy doesn’t look surprised, but rather just sighs and nods like this has become the norm. Nick wants to ask, but he knows it’s not his place. She lets them in, and Nick very carefully maneuvers them upstairs. He still remembers the path to Louis’s room, and it looks almost identical to the way it had looked the last time Nick had been there. The bed’s in the same place - all the furniture is - and aside from the updated posters and photos on the walls, he would have swore he’d traveled back in time.

Nick helps Louis lay down, and once he’s done that he pulls Louis’s shoes off his feet. He winces, the smell the same as it’s always been - why he can’t just wear socks, Nick will never understand - and then he helps Louis kick off his jeans. Louis curls up in his sweatshirt and pants and doesn’t even realize it’s Nick who’s there with him, anymore. Nearly rendered unconscious by all the alcohol coursing through his system, Louis is completely oblivious to what he’d usually be protesting vehemently: Nick’s mere presence.

Sadly, Nick pats Louis’s hair out of his face and then pulls his duvet up and over him, making sure he’s properly covered up before he leaves the room, letting the door click softly behind him.

When he gets downstairs, Fizzy’s looking worried, and she asks, “Did you lay him on his side?” Nick nods. Louis might irritate him to no end sometimes, but Nick would never leave him vulnerable to choke on his own vomit. That just seems _wrong_. “Did you give him any paracetamol? Water?”

Nick shakes his head. “Wasn’t sure where they were anymore,” he says.

“It’s okay,” she replies. “I… I was waiting for him to get home. I’ve got some ready.”

“You knew he’d be this pissed tonight?” Nick’s not sure if he wants to know the answer as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Fizzy looks desperately sad as she nods. She’s still got her arms wrapped around herself, and she’s frowning as she nods. “Yeah. He does this more often than not.”

That worries Nick, though he’s not shocked by the information in the least. Whatever Louis is dealing with, he’s not dealing with it _correctly_ , that’s for sure. “Do you know why?” he asks. Fizzy shakes her head. They stand in silence because Nick’s not sure what to say to that. She looks so sad, but of course if she doesn’t know what’s wrong, she can’t try to fix it. All she can do is hope that it gets better. Nick sighs. “I’m so sorry, Fiz.”

She nods. Nick wanders to the door, taking her silence as his cue to leave, until he’s frozen in his tracks by her question: “This doesn’t have anything to do with you, does it?”

Fizzy sounds hopeful, like maybe Nick might have any clues, any ideas as to why her brother is like this. Except he shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I dunno. He was mad at me for a while because I was dating Harry, but that ended and he got smug about it, but… that’s all I can think of, and that was months ago,” Nick says. “But like - he doesn’t talk to me much. We haven’t spoken since -”

Nick can’t finish his sentence, but Fizzy doesn’t make him.

“Thanks for bringing him home safe,” Fizzy says as she walks to the door, where Nick’s hesitantly waiting, and she puts her hand on the doorknob. “I’m so scared one day he’s just going to be found in a ditch or something. I’m really glad you found him.”

Nick looks so sad again, and he sighs. “I’m so sorry he’s putting you through this,” he offers. Fizzy shrugs.

“Get some rest, love. He’ll be out for a long time,” Nick tells her.

Fizzy nods and opens the door for him. “It was good to see you again,” she says softly as Nick’s crossing the threshold and stepping out onto the porch. He turns to look at her in surprise, and she smiles sadly at him as she says, “I always liked you best out of all his friends. I thought you could make him act more grown-up like mum says he needs to, sometimes.”

“He’ll get there,” Nick offers. He sometimes wishes he and Louis hadn’t cut all ties, but it was out of his control. “One day.”

“I hope you’re right,” Fizzy says as she waves and closes the door, keeping out the cold winter air.

Nick stuffs his hands in his coat pockets and ducks his head down, making his way determinedly back to his parents’ house. He’s got to leave for London bright and early the next morning, and he’s itching to crawl into his own bed and get a full night’s sleep.

\+ + +

Weeks pass and more often than not, Harry doesn’t see Nick, even though he’s bumming around in the lounge of Nick’s flat. Nick does his early morning show on the radio, and Harry’s always out late playing whatever gigs he can in whatever bars will have him. Harry finds himself quickly missing Nick, with Nick working early mornings and Harry working late nights.

Blessedly, Nick finds himself with a weekend off, so when Harry wakes up to the sound of a coffee maker running in the room over, he stirs in the guest bed he’s made his own. He’s confused, and when he sits up, he’s totally mussed and sleepy. The blanket drops from his chest where it’s bare, littered with a few tattoos, and he pulls on a bathrobe before wandering barefoot out into the kitchen. “You’re home,” he says.

Nick laughs, because of course Harry would point out the obvious. “A couple days off work never killed anyone,” he replies, and Harry laughs.

Harry wanders over to where Nick’s stood in the kitchen. He leans against the counter and watches Nick mull around. “D’you work this weekend?” Nick asks casually. He’s never sure what Harry’s up to. He doesn’t ask rent of him, so for all he knows, Harry hasn’t got a job.

“No,” Harry says. “Couldn’t book anything.” His voice is thick and groggy from sleep, and he’s rubbing his eyes. A yawn tumbles from his mouth and then he asks, “Why?”

Nick shrugs. It feels a little awkward, finally seeing Harry after so many days of missed meetings, coming and going without crossing paths. He’s not quite sure what to say to him. Harry’s just this guy who bunks with him now, and they occasionally get drunk and act like a couple. Nick’s not sure what to make of it. It feels like a relationship, but not quite. It’s so different from what they’d been before, in Colchester. “Dunno. I was kind of hoping we could go out for dinner. My treat. I know this really great place, and maybe we could… well,” he looks timid. “Maybe we could try a date again.” 

Harry looks genuinely surprised, but doesn’t attempt to hide his smile. “Really?” he asks. Nick nods. “Yeah… dinner sounds great. That -- thanks.”

“Of course.” Nick pours some coffee for himself, feeling rather pleased. “What have you been up to, anyway?” He’s got a slight smile on his face, curious as to how Harry’s quest for fame has gone so far.

Harry reaches out to put on a kettle for himself, and Nick sidles away to munch on his toast as his coffee cools. Harry explains as he’s getting himself a teacup and some tea, “I went back to Essex for a bit, last week, but mostly I’ve just been playing around, trying to get my demos picked up.”

“You went home?” Nick asks, surprised.

He hasn’t been back to Colchester much, at least not to see other people. His parents for their birthday, but that’s it. The run-in with Louis doesn’t count, he rationalizes. Louis hasn’t counted in a very long time. After he moved to London to pursue this radio career he’s got, the place hasn’t felt like home. Louis hasn’t _let_ it feel like home. Before he can stop himself, Nick asks, “How’s Louis?” He needs to know after he saw him fall apart in the pub. Awkwardly, Nick hesitates before adding, “And the rest of that lot?”

Harry’s eyes narrow curiously at Nick, and he’s quiet as he pours himself some tea. “Louis doesn’t speak to me much,” Harry admits. “He hasn’t since I left for here. Like, now, I mean.” He’s stammering awkwardly and he cradles his cup of tea as he walks back to the lounge. He tugs some blankets out of the way for Nick to sit, and he says, “You still haven’t told me why Louis hates you so much.”

Nick follows Harry to the lounge and he wishes he knew more about Louis; he’s always been his first real love, whether Nick wants to admit it or not, so there’s always going to be a part of him that cares. Not that Louis knows, or would even _want_ such a thing, but for Nick, it’s the principle of it all. He leans back into the cushions, closing his eyes as the comfort draws him in, pulls him out of that fearful place his mind is going towards. This feud between him and Louis, or whatever it is, has affected Harry as well. He deserves an explanation, and Nick knows it.

“It’s a long story,” he begins.

Harry waits a beat before he replies, “I’ve got time.”

Nick sighs heavily and tries to figure out where to begin. “We met when he was eighteen. Years before you’d moved to Colchester,” Nick starts. “I was twenty-five and just finishing up uni. I ran into him at a concert, some dingy band downtown whom neither of us cared about, really. There were drinks - I bought him one, actually, just so I could talk to him - and we started to have a nice chat. I brought him back to mine that night. The next morning he was all over me and wanted to date me, but in like, a cute way, you know? Nothing creepy, like. He was sweet.”

“Louis was sweet?” Harry asks incredulously.

Nick laughs, sounding a bit nervous, and nods, “Yeah. He was. In his own way though, you know? Like, sure he’d take the piss sometimes, but then he’d like, cuddle up to me and it’d be different. Does that even make sense?” Harry nods. “He’s a much different person now. I’d like to say he’s matured, but he hasn’t. He’s just changed. We dated for around a year before it became really clear to me that maturity was what was really holding us back.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean like… sure, I’m not the most mature person in the world, but I wanted the emotional connection in the relationship. I wanted to go out and have drinks without getting smashed. I wanted to sit around and watch a film without that pressure of needing to do something physical, to prove that I was into him, you know? I wanted it to be way more than physical,” he explains.

“And Louis didn’t?” Harry asks, though he already knows the answer.

“No, he didn’t. Or well - if he did, he had an odd way of showing it,” Nick confirms. “He wanted to shag all the bloody time. And don’t get me wrong, I love a good shag. And he was a great shag.” Harry winces, and Nick hesitates. “Oh - sorry.” He flinches, not sure if he should have said that, not when he and Harry are - _involved_ , or whatever they’re calling it now. He sighs and fiddles with the handle of his mug. “But when I wanted to just talk or cuddle, he’d take that rejection as me not wanting him. He’d get all moody and dramatic because I wanted a good lie-in instead of hooking up in the shower. Or because I didn’t want to get pissed out of my mind at some house party.”

Harry’s got a frown etched deep on his face and he’s not looking at Nick anymore, not fully. Nick feels an awkwardness creep into his bones and he pulls a knee to his chest as he continues, “When I got my first serious job offer, I kind of thought it was a sign. That Louis wasn’t right for me, at least in that point in my life. That I was growing up. And that’s about when I made complete bollocks of it,” Nick sighs. “Totally and entirely fucked it up, just because I’m me, and that’s what I do.” Harry raises an eyebrow and waits for Nick to elaborate. “I didn’t choose my words well. Told him I wanted someone more mature, and probably someone closer to my own age,” he explains. “He was crushed.”

“I believe it,” Harry agrees, and he’s got a blank expression on his face when their eyes meet again.

Nick takes a drink of his coffee, making a face as it burns his tongue, and he says, “I didn’t find out until afterwards, when little Liam - he was much smaller back then, didn’t have all those muscles you’ve known him to have - was threatening me. Told me he was going to hurt me because I’d hurt Louis. Anyway, I didn’t find out until then that I was Louis’s first. That like… everything he’d learned about shagging with a bloke? All from me. And then I dumped him because he didn’t know how to date someone. Because he’d never done _that_ before, either.”

Harry looks incredibly troubled now, and he stares down into his tea as he says, “I get it now.”

“I was a prick, I know,” Nick confesses. “I’ve tried to apologize to him so many times. Loads of times. But he always turns it into this thing where he tries to toss as many insults my way as he can before I can get a word in edgewise, and then I just get so _angry_ at him because he’s not giving me a chance.” He shakes his head. “But really, I don’t deserve a chance, not even to apologize.”

“I think everyone deserves a chance to apologize,” Harry offers.

Nick’s the one frowning now, and suddenly his appetite for his toast is gone. It sits forgotten on the table next to him as he takes another dreg of coffee from his mug. He’s quiet, waiting for Harry to say something. When he doesn’t, Nick says, “So… yeah. That’s essentially why Louis Tomlinson despises me.”

Harry’s gaze drifts from his tea, then to Nick, and then out the window before he looks back at Nick to say, “No wonder he was so upset when we started dating. You told him you wanted someone closer to your own age and here I am, even further from your age than Louis. I get it.”

“I can’t help how I feel about you, Harry,” Nick says simply. “You’ve got the maturity that Louis doesn’t. Ask anyone.”

But Harry still looks sad, and Nick’s concerned that maybe telling the truth, even years later, has ruined the one chance he had to get back together with Harry. “I should call him,” Harry says.

Nick looks over at Harry, a knot in his stomach as he thinks about that, how things might blow up in his face if Louis finds out that he’s been found out, but Harry deserved to know. He was honestly surprised that Louis hadn’t been the one to tell Harry, anyway. “Alright,” Nick nods. He’s avoiding Harry’s eyes, and Harry frowns.

“I’m not mad at you,” Harry insists. “I’m friends with both of you. I want this to work out. I… I want to hear his side, too.”

“It won’t be pretty,” Nick warns.

Harry shrugs. “I’m not expecting it to be. But I need to know.”

Nick nods and watches as Harry gathers his breakfast and his mobile and disappears down the hallway and into his room. Nick turns on the telly and watches some taped episodes of Poldark as he hears Harry’s phone call start. He doesn’t even want to hear bits and pieces of it - the thought is far too terrifying.

Harry’s sitting on his bed, legs crossed and tea perched on his bedside table as he waits for Louis to answer. “Go ‘way, it’s too early,” comes Louis’s groggy voice on the line.

“Louis, I need to talk to you, it’s important,” Harry says, voice firm and serious.

It’s a rather ominous way to start a phone call, all things considered, but Harry knows that when Louis is so tired there’s really no other way to get his attention. After a few seconds of rustling and heavy breathing, it sounds like Louis is more awake, and he asks, “What’s going on?”

“Nick told me everything.”

The line is silent. Harry almost wonders if Louis has hung up on him. Harry’s got a knot in his stomach, aware that he wasn’t the most subtle, but how else was he supposed to start the conversation? Louis like a deer, spooked at almost anything, so Harry had to rip off the plaster and just get things going. If he’d started out easier Louis would have hedged away from what Harry wanted to talk about and then he’d never be able to get back on topic.

“Did he, now?” Louis replies, terse.

“I’m sorry, Louis,” Harry says softly. “I honestly had no idea. I didn’t know _that’s_ why you hated me with him so much. I - ,”

“It’s not _your_ fault, Hazza,” Louis says softly. He takes a deep breath and says, “I dunno what you want me to say, though? It’s in the past.”

Harry’s hesitant before he asks, “D’you still have feelings for him?”

“I’ll be honest with you. I haven’t got a clue how I feel about anyone or anything, anymore,” Louis says, and he sounds more exhausted than Harry had realized. Louis’s voice is softer, gentler, and he sounds worn-out, like just waking up in the morning is almost too much for him now. Louis must realize Harry’s waiting for more, some sort of answer, so eventually he gives it to him. “I thought I loved him, Harry. I really did. I knew fuck all about dating, especially with a guy, and like, I was young, okay? I was young and he was my first and I got really fucking attached. Which he didn’t like, I guess.”

“Louis - ,”

“It’s fine, okay Harry?” Louis says, his voice tough again, defensive. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Harry pouts. “You’re not. I can hear it. I’ve watched it happen. It’s not just Nick, it’s -,”

Louis is quiet as Harry works through everything, processes the past few months, and his voice shudders as he exhales. “I’m sorry, Louis. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Louis says, and Harry can hear a smile in it, a sad, pitiful smile that says he’s doing his best to sound okay so Harry will take it. “I’m alright. I’ve got me mum and sisters and - I’m doing okay. Liam’s still around sometimes and I call Eleanor all the time. You went all the way to London, you’ve got to stay there and get famous now, remember? Be a proper star.”

Harry frowns, brow furrowed, and says, “I can come back for a while. Or - or you can come here.”

Louis chuckles. “No, I really can’t. And you can’t, either. We’re where we’re meant to be,” Louis replies. “Just focus on getting your music out there, okay? I’m a big kid. My broken heart’s all healed and I’m interviewing for proper jobs and everything. It’s all working out.” He’s overly-optimistic about most of it, but honestly, he’s got to be. It’s what Harry needs to hear.

“Will you listen to Nick sometime? Hear him out? He really wants to sort this out with you,” Harry pleads. “If you’ve moved on from it, it’ll be no big deal, right?”

Louis is quiet for a minute, but eventually heaves a sigh and says, “Sure, Harry. Next time I see you guys, I’ll hear him out.”

“Thanks,” Harry says.

But it’s awkward now. He might’ve gotten an agreement from Louis, but whether it’ll go well is another thing entirely. Harry doesn’t worry too much about it though, and rather decides to ring off so Louis can get more sleep. When Harry returns to the sofa, he curls up next to Nick and plants a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Louis says he’ll hear you out next time he sees us,” Harry says.

The knots in Nick’s stomach double at the thought of actually confronting Louis, but he appreciates Harry trying. He leans over to steal a proper kiss from Harry and then wraps his arm around his shoulders. “Alright,” Nick nods. He doesn’t know what else to say.

Harry drapes blankets over the both of them and turns to the telly, still curled up against Nick’s side. They watch a few episodes and Nick makes a reservation for them on his phone. Harry dozes off midway through the afternoon and when it’s time to start getting ready for their date, he kisses the top of Harry’s head to wake him. “Your hair’s getting long,” Nick comments, picking a few hairs out of his mouth as he laughs.

Harry looks bashful and sleepy-eyed as he sits up, but he laughs just watching Nick struggle. “I call the shower!” he shouts, and rushes down the hall to steal the shower before Nick can claim it.

Nick climbs in as Harry’s finishing up, and he steps up behind him, letting the steam surround both of them and slow things down. “Hi,” Harry says softly, unabashedly naked in front of Nick. 

Harry’s skin is warm and pink and Nick traces his fingers over his hips and down along his thighs, exploring and smiling against Harry’s neck. “Hi, love,” he whispers.

He feels Harry shiver in his arms, and he grins. “As much as I’d love to turn you to putty in my hands, we’ve got a reservation to make,” Nick teases, not taking his hands off of Harry.

“Rude,” Harry chuckles.

He turns around in Nick’s arms and he feels like he’s got the whole world in his hands now, as he puts his arms up around Nick’s shoulders. “You’re amazing, did you know that?” he asks with a coy grin on his face.

Nick just steals a kiss in reply, and then gives Harry’s bum a smack. “Go get ready,” he says. “You always take forever.”

“I do not!” Harry protests.

Nick kisses him again and then pushes him out of the shower so he can wash up himself. He wants to impress Harry, after all.

In the end, he and Harry are dressed almost identically, by total accident. They’ve both got their tight black pants and their Chelsea boots, and Harry’s got a scarf in his hair and a ridiculously adorable earring hanging from one ear, and Nick can’t help but smile. Harry’s got a brown patterned shirt half-buttoned, and Nick’s wearing a smart looking spotted shirt with a blazer over it. “You look lovely,” he says, patting his quiff one last time to make sure it’s in place.

When he hugs Harry it feels different, warmer, more romantic than he’d intended because Harry slots against him from head to toe and nuzzles in against his neck. “Thanks. You too,” Harry whispers. 

Nick feels the faintest trace of a kiss against his chest and it sends his heart all into a tizzy, fluttering madly in his rib cage, threatening to burst out. God, he’s really gone for this boy.

He takes Harry’s hand confidently and leads him out the door, ready for a nice date out. They might be seen by a few people, but generally Nick likes how private his life is, even though he’s in the public eye more than he’s ever been before. Harry follows, doe-eyed and happy, all the way to the car, and on the drive there, and to the restaurant. The whole time their hands barely ever separate. Nick loves it.

His weakness for holding hands gives way to his weakness for seafood and lovely riverside restaurants, because next thing they know they’re seated by a window, overlooking the River Thames at nightfall, ordering crab legs or scallops or whatever -- Nick hadn’t really paid attention. All he knows is that for as silly as Harry’s fashion sense is, it works for him. Nick can’t take his eyes off him.

“I adore you,” Nick says softly, once the waiter has left them alone in peace. He reaches across the table for Harry’s hand and rubs his thumb over his knuckles. “I’m so glad you came back.”

Harry smiles, still so earnest and warm after all this time. “Of course,” Harry says. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more,” Nick promises, and he’s never meant anything more in his life.

Harry is truly special, the kind of guy who only comes along once in a lifetime, and Nick’s got a second chance with him and he’s not going to spoil it.

He orders the best wine on the menu, which coincidentally will pair well with their food, and Harry looks a bit nervous as he digs in. “Y’alright, love?” Nick asks as he cuts into his salmon.

“Yeah,” Harry nods. “Just never eaten crab legs before.” He laughs sheepishly.

“Tell you what,” Nick smiles. “You give me half of yours and I’ll give you half of mine and I’ll teach you right here and now how to make a total mess of yourself while eating crab legs.”

Harry laughs and Nick just raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m wrong?” he challenges.

That’s got Harry handing over half his meal, and once Nick starts to teach him, Harry learns that maybe he _did_ choose one of the messier items on the menu. He’s got a few scallops on his plate as well, which he eats even though he looks less than thrilled to do so, and then dinner slows down.

Nick sips his wine and watches as Harry adjusts his silly clip-on earring, and then his scarf, and he looks a bit warm. “Want to go for a walk?” Nick asks, noticing the sheen of sweat building on Harry’s brow. It doesn’t feel that warm inside, but Nick took off his blazer and his top is admittedly a bit thin, so.

“No, you wanted dessert. Let’s get the dessert,” Harry insists, offering a weak smile.

Nick is hesitant, but orders a crème brûlée for them to share. He ends up eating most of it, but leaving some behind, as he’d much rather pay the bill and take Harry home. Harry’s looking a bit pale now, too, but he keeps his smile plastered on his face, insisting that he’s fine. “Harry,” Nick says softly as he stands from the table, offering out his hand.

“I’m fine,” Harry repeats, but takes Nick’s hand for help anyway. It’s clammy and cold and no, Nick knows, he’s not fine.

He’s right, too.

They’re barely inside Nick’s flat when Harry’s bounding down the hallway to the nearest bathroom and kneeling over the toilet looking tiny and fragile. Nick rushes after him, but makes it just as Harry finishes his retching. “I’ve ruined our evening,” Harry groans as he grabs some loo roll to wipe his mouth. 

His scarf is falling lopsided and his earring is barely hanging on, and Nick flushes the toilet as he kneels down next to Harry. “Hush, love,” Nick says, rubbing his back. Harry won’t look at him, won’t face him after something so humiliating, but Nick wants him to know that he cares, that he’s here for him in the good and in the bad.

Gently, Nick pulls the earring from Harry’s earlobe and sets it on the counter, and then slowly unwraps the scarf from his unruly hair. “I’m a mess,” Harry pouts.

“I’ve seen you look worse,” Nick replies with a smirk. Harry chuckles, but it’s not as weak, not as bright as usual. “It’s alright, I promise.”

“Don’t think the scallops agreed with me,” Harry jokes, but then seconds later he’s retching into the toilet again and it doesn’t seem like quite as much of a joke after that.

As it turns out, Harry’s hair has grown so much that Nick’s got to hold it back out of his face so he doesn’t accidentally get vomit on it. He holds Harry’s hair back and looks away from the mess, trying not to get sick himself, just at the sight. It’s hard, but he’d do basically anything for Harry, clearly.

Once Harry sounds like he’s finally all done, Nick flushes the toilet again and offers Harry a toothbrush. “I’ve got my own,” Harry says when he sees that it’s a brand new one, still in the packaging.

“Don’t get your sick on that one,” Nick says. “Just… use this one and toss it in the bin once you’re well again.” He stands, his knees cracking, and he groans. “I’ll get you some water, okay? Then we’ll get you tucked into bed.”

“I’m sorry I ruined our night,” Harry mumbles again, leaning against the wall, knees up and head bowed.

Nick shakes his head and pats Harry’s hair. “You didn’t ruin anything, love. We had our dinner and it was lovely,” he insists. “Let’s just say instead that this means we get to have another date, just so we can end it more of the way we’d hoped it would end, yeah?” Harry laughs at that, and Nick feels oddly triumphant.

When he returns with water, Harry’s already dropped off to sleep, and it takes some work but Nick manages to get Harry conscious enough to carry half of his weight to the bed. The rest of his weight, Nick shoulders, and when they’re finally collapsing into bed, Nick is relieved. He’s not as strong as he used to be, and Harry’s gotten broader, heavier.

Nick helps Harry out of his boots and jeans, but lets him sleep in bed with the rest of it on, his half-buttoned top and his black pants. He looks awfully adorable, though a bit too pale still. Nick leaves a bin by the side of the bed in case Harry gets sick again, and then gets ready for bed. The whole time, he keeps glancing back at Harry, ensuring that he’s alright. He doesn’t move an inch.

It’s not even all that late when Nick rolls into bed next to Harry, but Harry looks small and sad and a little cold, so Nick can’t help but slide in next to him at only half nine in the evening and spoon up behind him. Harry stirs just a bit, to sidle back into Nick’s embrace and cover Nick’s hand with his own. “Sleep well, love,” Nick whispers, and plants a kiss on the back of Harry’s shoulder as sleep claims him as well.

\+ + +

It’s late, and Zayn’s just finished putting together the new shelf they’d bought for under the window, something clean and white with little green bins to hold all of the baby’s things. Perrie trudges into the room, six months pregnant and very tired, and sits down on the couch.

The whole room is tense, and Zayn stares down at his knees. He’s still sat in front of the shelf, a little sweaty from putting so much effort into assembling it, but he knows what Perrie’s about to say isn’t going to be good.

He’s felt it coming on for months, since about the time he and Louis hooked up in the car, because Zayn’s been distant ever since and Perrie’s brilliant - she’s picked up on something. Zayn doesn’t think she knows that he cheated, but he doesn’t think it matters.

Either way, there’s something missing.

“Zayn?” Perrie asks quietly.

He heaves a heavy sigh and turns around to face her. She’s always been pretty, with or without makeup, but something about the swell of her belly and the way she looks content even when she’s troubled is remarkable. Zayn hopes his son or daughter inherits the same things -- it’ll help them so much in the future. Zayn can be read like a book, though usually he just looks upset or unhappy, and people often take it the wrong way.

She pats the cushion next to her on their new sofa, and Zayn joins her. 

They’d fought that afternoon, argued about whether or not to find out if the baby was a boy or girl, and then over what other things they needed to baby-proof the flat, and then how they were going to pay for everything.

Zayn’s given up on school now, his art degree out of the question now that he’s got to work more, make more money to keep a roof over their heads. He mostly just works at the grocer’s now, stocking shelves in the early mornings before opening time. It’s not fun, but the baby makes it worth it.

“Zayn, we know where this is going,” Perrie says softly.

His stomach is in knots, and it has been ever since they’d fought, and he’s already held back from chain smoking out of frustration so he’s really got no choice but to keep it up. He wants to quit smoking entirely, for the baby, but if he can even reduce it, he considers it a triumph. He doesn’t want her to be _that kid_. The one who smells like their parents smoke and can’t afford nice things.

Zayn knows their child deserves more than he’s ever going to be able to give them.

He nods, avoiding her eyes, because he _does_ know. This is it. This is the end. “That’s it then?” he asks quietly.

Perrie reaches over for his hand, and it’s trembling, he can feel it in his touch. She’s cold and clammy too, clearly nervous to have this conversation with him at all. “I’m sorry. We just… we both know it’s better this way,” Perrie explains. Her voice is hardly above a whisper, she’s so sad and gentle. “You don’t love me like you used to, and… I don’t love you that way anymore, either.”

Zayn presses his eyes closed and hates the way his whole chest seems to constrict, the air struck from his lungs and his heart physically aching. He knows she’s right, but that doesn’t make it easy. That doesn’t mean he’ll miss her any less.

He squeezes her hand and asks, “Will I still get to see the baby?”

“Oh Zayn,” Perrie says, and he can hear the tears this time, knows she’s crying soft, silent tears before he even looks up to see that it’s true. “Of course. You… you can have as much time with them as you want, I swear. I want us to still be friends, for the baby.”

Zayn nods, relieved that at least he’s not going to be losing the baby, that there’s a beacon of light at the other side of all this pain. “I’m gonna miss you, Pez,” Zayn confesses.

She leans her head on his shoulder and says, “We’re stuck with each other for life, you know. Because of the baby. And we’ll be friends.”

“Yeah,” Zayn sighs, but it’s not the same. It won’t ever be the same because she’s probably going to move on so easily, to meet someone new and marry them and then the baby’s life will become a whole lot more complicated, and maybe Zayn won’t even be his or her favourite. It might be the new person. Breaking up changes everything, though he won’t admit that fear out loud. 

No matter what, Zayn’s always going to hate seeing Perrie so upset.

He takes a heavy breath and asks, “Are you moving, then?”

“Yeah,” Perrie nods. “I’m going to stay with Jade and her roommates until I sort out where to go from there.”

Even though he dreads the answer, Zayn asks, “When?”

Perrie is quiet. “Tonight.”

Zayn looks over at her, and then realizes she’s carried a duffle bag out with her, and a suitcase is propped up against the wall of the hallway. “You… you don’t have to go so soon,” Zayn pleads.

“I do,” Perrie nods, and wipes at her eyes, because the sadness on Zayn’s face is too much for her. “I’m sorry.”

“Pez, just…”

“I can’t stay, Zayn. I can’t,” Perrie says, her voice firmer, stronger. “I need to process this away from you. I can’t be in the same space as you because then I might change my mind.”

“So? You can change your mind,” he says.

Perrie shakes her head as she stands up. A car pulls up outside and that’s when he realizes -- this is it. They’re saying goodbye. She’s moving out, and probably won’t see her again until the baby arrives.

Everything’s being taken away all at once -- his best friend, his unborn baby, his companionship -- he doesn’t know what he’s going to do alone. He doesn’t know how he’s going to foot the bill for his flat all alone, not if he’s going to save up for the baby. His voice cracks as he says, “Perrie, please.”

“I have to go,” she says, and grabs her things.

She puts it all out the door as Zayn sits blankly on the sofa, watching her, waiting for her to turn around and do that smile she does, the one where her eyes sparkle and she says, “only joking!” in that cute way she always does.

“You can still change your mind,” Zayn reminds her as she’s stepping out the door. He wants to stand up, to hug her one last time, or to kiss her before she goes, but he’s rooted to the spot. He can’t handle this, doesn’t think he’s ready for this.

“It doesn’t matter if I do or not,” Perrie says softly, looking Zayn in the eye. “You’re in love with someone else now. I dunno who, but that’s where your heart is. And I’m not going to get in the way of that.”

“Pez, no --,”

“Goodbye, Zayn,” she says softly. “I’ll… I’ll text you soon. About the baby.”

And suddenly the breath is gone from his lungs and he feels like he’s falling deep into something terrifying as the door shuts behind her, clicking him into this new, silent, terrifying world of being alone. It takes him a few seconds to process before he reverts to his old ways, to his old habits of comfort.

He finds an old bottle of vodka in the cupboard above the fridge and stands out on the porch drinking straight from the bottle as he smokes one cigarette after another.

“Perrie doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” he mutters at the ground, angry that she thinks he’s in love with someone else, that she can’t come back no matter how she feels. 

She’s wrong. She’s got to be. Because sure, he can’t stop worrying about Louis, wondering where he is or what he’s doing or if he’s being safe, but that doesn’t mean he’s in love with him. He’s just… his mate. He cares.

He cares so much that he needs to make sure he’s okay, right that moment. He needs someone to talk to, someone to confide in, and Louis is nothing if not that exact type of person.

He’s not, but his number is one of the only ones in Zayn’s new phone, so that’s the one he dials.

Louis will never admit it to anyone, but when he sees that the reason his phone is ringing is Zayn, he feels hopeful for the first time in a while. They haven’t spoken since they hooked up in the back of Louis’s car, and even though there’s a possibility this phone call could go badly, Louis is still pleased to see that Zayn’s decided to dial him rather than anyone else. 

Vaguely, he wonders if this is Zayn calling to let him know that the baby’s arrived. Louis loves babies, no matter how thick headed their parents might be. He’d love to meet the kid one day, if only because somewhere deep down he knows he cares a lot about Zayn and doesn’t plan on going anywhere.

Louis answers after a moment, swiping his finger across the screen. “Hey,” he says flatly.

“Louis?”

Zayn sounds distant, his voice thick with something, and it puts Louis on alert. “Unless you’ve got some other bloke named Louis in your phone, yeah it’s me,” he says sarcastically.

“I’m… I’m…” Zayn’s words blur together into a hum, and Louis’s brow furrows. He’d almost guess that Zayn were high, except for this whole thing that Zayn’s given up drugs, and drinking, and all of that just so he can be a good enough dad. “I’m a single man now.”

Yeah, his words are definitely stringing together, and Louis can’t help but ask, “Are you high?”

“I’m… found some vodka in the flat,” he confesses.

Louis frowns. “You said you were going to quit. For the baby. Is the baby there?” Louis tries not to sound alarmed, but a drunken, clearly sad man taking care of a newborn is a recipe for disaster.

“Nah,” Zayn sighs. “She’s still in Perrie’s stomach,” he slurs. “Jus’ me in the flat now. All alone.”

“Jesus, Zayn,” Louis mutters. “Can you afford that? And a baby?”

Zayn groans and his breathing sounds heavy over the phone. Louis worries about how drunk he’s gotten, about whether Zayn’s going to be okay, but it doesn’t feel like his place to go over there anymore. “’m gonna ‘ave to,” Zayn groans.

Louis sighs and cards a hand through his hair. “Why are you calling me, mate?” he asks. His curiosity is too much - he needs to know.

“I - dunno,” Zayn says, his voice lazy and low. He’s clearly piss drunk, and it makes Louis frown deeply. “Missed you.”

That hurts more than Louis expects it to. Louis misses Zayn, too, but of course he can’t say that. Saying something like that means opening up to Zayn, and Zayn’s clearly chosen having a family over having fun with Louis. And to add to it, when he decides to fall off the wagon, he doesn’t even bother giving Louis a call. Part of him feels bitter about it all, but another part of him, a far more suppressed part, really just wants to take care of Zayn and make it better.

“It’ll be okay,” Louis reassures Zayn. “You need to drink some water and figure out how you’re going to do this.”

“Live with me,” Zayn tries.

“I haven’t got a job,” Louis says. He’d get a job for it, he knows, but this is Zayn and they’ve got this _thing_ between them, this awkward thing where Louis wants Zayn badly, but Zayn’s about to be a single dad and besides, he likes girls when he’s sober, as far as Louis knows.

Zayn groans again, and the urgency to make sure he’s okay returns. Louis hadn’t even realized it faded. “Listen, Zayn - you’ve got to just drink some water and go lay down, alright? Lay on your side and just pass out. Sleep it off. Take some paracetamol before you go to bed,” he instructs.

He doesn’t like being the responsible one. He doesn’t like being reminded of what others have had to do for him, of what he’s put them through.

Louis stays on the line as Zayn bumbles around his flat, doing as he’s told. When Louis hears his breathing even out, he finally hangs up the phone and sighs heavily.

Just once, Louis would really like for things to not be so complicated. Just once.

\+ + +

It’s not often that Liam and Niall hang out with each other outside of Costa, where they’re constantly studying, or rather, where Liam’s helping Niall study for his anatomy exams. But now that term’s come to an end and they’re about to go their own ways for summer holidays, Niall back to Ireland and Liam staying around Colchester working on a new apartment complex with the rest of the people in his apprenticeship.

They’re sat at a pub, pints in hand, and Niall’s laughing at something, Liam can’t remember. It’s only midday, but they’re so glad to be done with courses until the fall that they couldn’t help but get started on the celebrations earlier. Zayn backed out of their plans at the last minute, saying something about not feeling well, so it’s just the two of them. “We should’ve invited Harry,” Liam says, looking around. “He could have probably sold out this place doing one of his shows.”

Niall smiles and nods. “Yeah, he could have. I heard he’s doing pretty well in London.”

“Of course you have,” Liam teases, wiggling his eyebrows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Niall asks, affronted.

Liam takes a swig of beer and asks, “Well, you two are together, aren’t you?”

Niall bursts out laughing at that, and shakes his head. “Nah. We hooked up at that party or whatever, but we’re better as friends. He’s all hung up on Nick and besides, I’ve met someone.” Liam looks impressed, his eyebrows raising as he watches Niall, waiting for more information. “His name’s Niall, too,” Niall says with a fond smile. “Bressie, is what his friends call him though, I guess. He’s great.”

“Is he Irish, too?” Liam asks.

“Yep,” Niall nods, his grin even wider. “He’s a mature student here. Occupational therapy, though. Not paediatrics.”

Liam looks pleased for him and says, “I’ve got to meet him sometime.”

“I’m sure you will,” Niall agrees. “He promised to come out with us next year.”

Liam calls over the barmaid and orders two more pints - his treat, he says, in celebration of Niall finding someone to date - before he says, “I can’t believe the first year’s done already. It feels like just yesterday we were starting, you know?”

“Yeah,” Niall nods. He’s more serious now, getting more sentimental with the changing of the topics. “I, for one, am glad it’s over. I get my braces off in a couple of weeks. All I’m going to eat this summer is steak. Seriously.”

That draws a laugh out of Liam and he says, “Of course you are.”

“I will!” Niall insists. “Don’t think that I won’t!”

“Are you going to see Bressie then, too?” Liam asks. “Since he’s from Ireland too, and all?”

“We’re planning on it, yeah,” Niall nods. “He’s got a house he shares with some friends here in Essex, but he promised he’d come back to visit a few times this summer.”

Liam nods and says, “And you can always crash with him. Or me. If you wanted to come visit this summer.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Niall says. “That’d be brilliant.”

They take another long swig each of beer before Niall asks, “Have you and Sophia finally gotten together?”

Liam grins wickedly and nods as he says, “Yeah. I honestly never thought she’d want to date me, but now look. She’s so wonderful, Niall. Way out of my league, but seriously - so great.”

“You found a good one,” Niall nods in agreement.

Liam thinks he could probably go on and on about Sophia the rest of the afternoon, but instead they get distracted by a plate of chips and the round of karaoke that starts shortly after their food arrives. Liam puts their name in for a duet, thinking he can talk Niall into singing the girl’s part, but it ends up being Liam singing falsetto for most of it whilst Niall laughs his ass off and tries to sing at the same time.

It’s one of the best evenings Niall has in Essex, and it makes him sad to leave for the summer. He’s really going to miss Liam and everyone else he’s met while he’s back in Ireland for the summer.

\+ + +

Nick comes home from work on a Monday morning to find Harry draped across the sofa. At some point in the early morning Harry must have gotten up and gone to the sofa, because he wasn’t there when Nick left for work before the sun began to rise. Harry’s guitar is halfway to falling off his lap and he’s wearing nothing but shorts and a henley, draped awkwardly over the cushions and pillows. Nick steps in to move the guitar before it falls and breaks, and when he takes it, Harry’s fingers twitch and try to grab it. “Oh, I thought it was falling,” Harry mumbles when he sees that Nick’s got the guitar and that he’s setting it over on the rocker.

“You fell asleep songwriting?” Nick asks, amused. He eyes Harry as he shifts around on the sofa, trying to get comfortable. “I’ve never heard of that happening to anyone before.”

Harry’s cheeks turn pink and he smiles, embarrassed, half into the pillow he’s got his face smushed against. His lazy limbs are still struggling with the blankets until Nick reaches out to take it from him. He drapes it gently over Harry’s body and says, “You can sleep more, it’s alright.”

“No,” Harry grumbles sleepily. He reaches out for Nick’s hand and smiles up at him through drowsy eyes as he says, “I’ve missed you.”

“Our work schedules are totally incompatible,” Nick says, sounding fond. “I’m glad you’re getting gigs, though. I’m proud of you.”

Harry looks so young and sweet when he smiles back, clearly pleased with himself, as well. He gives Nick’s hand a squeeze and asks, “How about a cuddle?”

Nick knows he should probably send some emails and do a little business before he relaxes the rest of the evening, but Harry’s request is too enticing. “You always want a cuddle,” Nick laughs, but nudges at Harry’s shoulder to get him to sit up.

Harry rests his head in Nick’s lap and closes his eyes, clearly pleased with the way Nick’s carding his fingers through Harry’s rumpled, tangled hair the best he can. Occasionally he snags it on a knot and Harry hisses, but Nick just pats his head gently until Harry seems soothed. They sit in silence for a while, no sound but the dull roar of traffic outside to lull them. Nick begins feeling drowsy as well until Harry’s voice pulls him from his stupor. “Nick, how much control do you have over the songs that play during your show?” he asks.

Nick’s brow furrows and he looks down at Harry, studying him for a moment. Harry looks so earnest, so sweet, that Nick can’t help but answer honestly, “I’d say I get to choose at least half the songs. Why?”

He already knows the answer, or at least he’s fairly certain, but he wants to hear Harry say it. He doesn’t know why, exactly - maybe for the satisfaction that he can still read Harry’s mind a year after meeting him, or because he wants to have to seriously consider how to sneak Harry’s music on the radio. Granted, it’s the breakfast show, so Harry’s target audience is probably still dead to the world at that hour, but there are plenty of young professionals commuting - there’s a slight possibility they’ve got the same taste in music as the mounds of hipsters Nick sees milling around at whatever shows of Harry’s he manages to attend.

“Will you play one of my songs, please?” Harry asks, his voice thin and timid. It’s like he thinks Nick will say no, full stop.

Nick knows he shouldn’t abuse his power like that, but then he considers that the only real way for people to gain exposure is to be put out there by someone willing to take a chance on them. Nick is Harry’s chance. He’s the one willing to give him this opportunity. Harry’s big green eyes catch Nick’s gaze and they look at each other for a moment, Nick considering it, before he says, “I can play it, yeah. No promises that Finchy will let me play it more than once, but I’ll do my very best, alright?” It’s really all he can do; he hopes it’ll be enough.

Harry’s whole face lights up and he practically leaps off the sofa before leaning in for a kiss. “I can’t thank you enough,” he says, beaming at Nick.

Nick raises an eyebrow, but can’t fight a smile as Harry climbs onto his lap. It’s not as easy as it once was, because Harry’s grown since they last broke up. He’s taller, still lanky, but he’s filling out, his shoulders a little broader and his muscles a bit thicker. Nick _really_ likes the change in him, likes the way he’s growing his hair out and the way he’s added ink to his skin to catalogue his myriad of experiences as a wanderer in London. It’s still the same Harry that Nick dated back in Colchester a year ago, but he’s grown up. He’s come out of his shell.

He’s grinding down on Nick’s lap without reserve. He never would have done that a year ago.

Harry’s watching Nick, waiting for a reaction, and Nick doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Except then Harry scoots closer and ducks his head in to press hot, wet kisses at Nick’s pulse point while he keeps rolling his hips nice and slow, and that draws a long, low groan out of Nick. Harry chuckles, sounding proud that he’s gotten Nick to give in, and Nick’s not sure when Harry got so confident and sexy but he likes it. He’s incredibly turned on by it, knowing Harry’s gotten more experience. Nick knows he should be jealous, but he’s just intrigued.

Before long, Harry’s pulling Nick down the hallway to his bedroom, and it’s a world of difference from their first time, but Nick loves it just as much, if not more.

The next morning Nick promises that he’ll play one of Harry’s songs on the radio. It’s one called “Happily,” one that Harry said he’s the most proud of so far, and Nick really enjoys it. He takes a look at the track list for the day once he gets to the office - early, which Finchy comments on with great surprise - and decides to play Harry’s song at the peak of rush hour, around half seven in the morning. Nick sets it immediately after he does a segment so he can introduce it, and he’s got butterflies the whole show leading up to it.

When it’s time, Nick can’t stop grinning as he says, “Next up we’ve got a song from an up and-coming new artist named Harry Styles. For the first time ever on national radio, here’s his debut single, ‘Happily!’”

The song tunes in and Nick knows he fabricated a bit - there’s no _single_ per se, but it’s still the first song he’s ever released, and it’s out there on its own rather than as part of an album, so it makes sense. Nick listens intently to the song, rather than tuning out to chat a bit whilst the music goes, and he’s heard it a few times, but never like this. Never when he knew that the entire nation could potentially be listening.

As soon as the song’s done, he’s got a text from Harry, who says _thank you_ followed by the purple bitmap crab emoji, the smiley face with heart eyes emoji, and two prawns. Whatever that means, Nick’s got no idea. Half an hour later, he’s got another text from Harry saying he’s just gained literally hundreds of followers on Twitter already. _How did they even know it was you?_ Nick texts in reply. Harry tells him he should make sure everyone knows, not just the resourceful ones, so Nick opens up his Breakfast Show Twitter account and does exactly that.

 **R1Breakfast:** RT if you’d like to hear @Harry_Styles on Radio 1 again!

That’s all it takes for notifications to blow up for both Nick and Harry, Nick’s for all the retweets his message gets and Harry’s for all the new followers he gains. Both of them receive piles of messages asking where to get his album, and a few people who’ve been trailing him at pubs and bars around London are claiming that they’ve got YouTube videos of him that they’ll share for followers, and Nick’s never seen this kind of explosion before.

By the end of the day, Harry’s got over three thousand followers and Radio 1 is still being bombarded with requests to play ‘Happily’ again. So they do.

When Nick walks through the door of his house, Harry bounds at him looking so happy he could cry - or perhaps he already has, given his red-rimmed, puffy eyes - and Nick just hugs him back. Harry doesn’t say a word, just wraps his arms around Nick’s neck and hugs him close, burrowing his face against his neck, eventually whispering _thank you thank you thank you_ over and over again into Nick’s skin. Harry’s still in his joggers, foregoing a shirt altogether, and he’s so warm and flushed and happy it’s astonishing to Nick that he’s the one who made Harry feel this way. This happiness is all because of _him_.

Harry calls his mum that evening and tells her the news, but says he doesn’t know what’s going to happen next, or how to sell his single or tell the world that he’s got an album of songs ready to sell if he can, but he’s gotten exposure and he’s so happy he could cry. Nick’s pretty sure Harry’s mum actually _does_ cry, but the phone call was fuzzy to hear across the sofa so he could be wrong. Though he’s probably not.

After Harry’s done on the phone, Nick holds up his own mobile and smiles at Harry. “Hey, popstar,” he says fondly, his voice soft and sweet. Harry looks up from where he’s holding his knees to his chest and smiling into them, a fuzzy blanket wrapped around him, enveloping him like he’s the filling of a very famous, very handsome burrito, and Nick can’t fight his grin. “Let’s give them more to talk about, yeah? Ride out this wave of buzz?”

Harry just smiles fondly, his chin propped up on his knees so he can give the camera a proper look at him, and Nick snaps a black and white photo. He posts it to his personal account via Instagram - an account that’s been gaining plenty of fans on its own thanks to the breakfast show, though not nearly as many as Harry’s gained in just twelve hours - and captions it: _the world’s next mega popstar! @harrystyles_. “Alright, your phone’s going to blow up again,” Nick says as he places his phone screen-down on the side table. “I’ve just tagged your Instagram on mine.”

Sure enough, Harry’s phone goes _ding!_ over and over again until finally he decides to switch it off for the night. He climbs across the sofa to where Nick’s sat at the other end, and he plops himself down in Nick’s lap to snuggle him and kiss him softly. “Thank you,” he says as he smiles, his lips still brushing Nick’s. “You’re amazing.”

Nick smiles back and just holds Harry a little closer. “I knew you could do it,” he reminds him before capturing his lips in yet another kiss.

Lazy and slow, Harry rolls himself so he’s burrowed between Nick’s strong body and the cushiony back of the sofa. They kiss for hours until they can barely move, too exhausted and worn out from such an eventful day. They collapse into Nick’s bed together, Harry’s space in the guest room forgotten months ago in favor of being able to cuddle every night. Harry clings to Nick all night, and it’s hot under the blankets, but Nick doesn’t mind. He’s ready to wake up the next morning and play Harry’s music on the air for everyone, all over again. Harry’s told all his friends this time, said that Nick’s going to play the song around eight this time, and that he might even say a word or two about him. Harry made Nick promise he’d say only sweet things, though.

And he does. He tells everyone that Harry’s a songwriter from Colchester, but originally from Cheshire, and that he’s been working on this music since the two of them met a year ago. He tells everyone that his mate, Harry, is performing a few gigs around town that month, says that he’ll be in a pub that Friday, actually, and that anyone interested can go listen there. He plays the song and waits for the praise to pour in.

“You’ve found a good one,” Finchy comments as Nick’s packing up his things at the end of the show, ready to go out to lunch with Harry to celebrate. “I always thought he was more than your mate, though.”

“Dunno what I’m allowed to say on air, really,” Nick shrugs. “I haven’t asked him.”

“Well, be careful,” Finchy warns. “The media can be a mess.”

Nick nods dutifully, not quite sure what exactly Finchy means by that, but he’s being careful because he knows it can go downhill quickly if the wrong people hear. Everyone knows Nick’s gay already, he’s not kept that a secret, but Harry - he’s just starting his career. Maybe he doesn’t want to be that “gay indie singer” - he can be a lot more, a lot different, if he really wants to be. And it’s not Nick’s decision to make.

Nick doesn’t get a chance to ask about it at lunch, nor does he have a chance to bring it up the rest of the week, because Harry’s suddenly become obsessed with making the perfect setlist for that Friday’s show. It’s at a rather large bar, somewhere with a proper stage at the center and room for at least a hundred people.

Except when they arrive an hour before the show’s supposed to start, there’s a line down the block. Harry stares, rooted to the spot, and asks, “Are they all here for me?”

One of the girls in line hears him and turns around, excitement filling her features as soon as she realizes who they are. Nick would guess that she’s about twenty, based on the fact that she’s wearing a floral dress and a beanie atop her head, and looks the epitome of a hipster - something he doesn’t label lightly. “Oh my god, Harry!?” she asks excitedly.

That draws the attention of a few more people in line, males and females alike, and suddenly Harry’s got people shoving paper and print-offs of his old Instagram photos and even in one instance, an _arm_ , for him to sign. He’s flustered, to say the least. Nick allows Harry to indulge them for about ten minutes before he steps in, ushering Harry away and apologizing to the crowd, because Harry’s got to get inside or else the show will never start.

The bar owner meets them at the back door and asks what’s happened, why suddenly the crowd of about fifty to seventy-five that Harry said he usually has seems to have quadrupled overnight. Harry explains, says that he had no idea the radio exposure would mean this much success, and asks if he’s still allowed to go on. “Of course,” says the bar owner gruffly. He looks unimpressed, but shrugs and admits, “I’m all about more business in this place.”

Harry goes on and does the show, and the fans are rather disappointed that he hasn’t got physical CDs to hand out, but the reception to his single is more than he’d been expecting. He literally gets tears in his eyes and goosebumps on his arms when they sing along to “Happily,” the words already committed to memory after only four days. Backstage Harry falls into Nick’s embrace again, thanking him in little puffs of breath against his neck and ear, and Nick really badly would like to press Harry up against the wall in that moment and do dirty things to him - and Harry probably wants it in return - but there’s an official looking man at the door and Nick has to separate their bodies so they can address him without feeling too awkward and embarrassed.

“Mr. Styles, could I have a word?” the man asks.

Harry looks nervous, but he nods and gives Nick’s hand a squeeze before he follows the man out of the room to have a private conversation. Their talk seems to take forever, and Nick hates waiting, but eventually when Harry comes back and says the man wants to sign him, to give him a chance to record this album properly in a studio and put out an album on iTunes and in stores both, Nick is immeasurably proud.

They make an appointment with the man on Monday morning, and until then they resolve to do nothing but celebrate. Niall and Liam come to a party at Nick’s, along with Bressie and Sophia, and Nick invites a bunch of his friends from the radio station, as well. There are drinks all around, and Harry’s acting like he’s best friends with everyone there, even if he’s just met them, and his charisma is just further proof, Nick thinks, that Harry’s meant to do this. He’ll do well in the industry, making everyone feel like his best friend when in reality they’re acquaintances at best.

Nick’s glad he planned a weekend of partying and celebrating with Harry - one filled with wine and dancing and plenty of shagging - because as soon as he signs with the label, Harry’s barely around. The flat is pathetically quiet without the constant strumming on a guitar or humming of melodies. Nick doesn’t know what to do with himself, because there’s nothing for him to even listen to now, a thing he’d do quite often, lounging around whilst Harry worked on music. They cuddle whenever Harry’s home, but it’s not the same. Nick feels the distance growing already, dreads what it means.

It only takes a few weeks for the label and management team to begin setting up a tour around the UK and Ireland, and both Harry and Nick pretend it’s not happening, that Harry’s not leaving for months at the end of summer holidays.

“I’m leaving in a week,” Harry says softly one evening as they’re curled up on the sofa. “I… I know we’re not talking about it, I just - we need to, eventually.”

Nick’s quiet. He’s never quiet. It chills Harry to the bone, to think what Nick’s feeling. He’s been in this very spot, sitting opposite Nick, listening to him say something so sad and upsetting that he’s not sure he wants to hear it. It’s even more difficult, Harry’s learned, having to be the one to say it rather than hear it. “I think… when I’m in the road, I don’t want to hold you back,” Harry starts. He winces at how horrible and cliche it sounds.

Harry sits up from where he’s been leaning against Nick’s shoulder, and he tries to look in his eyes except Nick’s turned away, already fearing where this is going.

“We can keep in touch, and like… I really _do_ care about you,” Harry continues. He’s not making it any better, he knows.

“It’s fine,” Nick lies, looking over at Harry in the warm, orange light of the sunset. It’s such a contrast, this bright warm feeling of sunlight mixed with the cold settling of dread and disappointment deep inside Nick. He’s just been dumped, and he knows it.

Harry frowns and bites his lip, and Nick just kisses him softly. “We’ve just got to enjoy it until then, yeah?” he asks.

It’ll be painful, continuing to act like a couple up until he leaves for tour, but Harry figures it’s the least he can do. He’s hurting Nick the way Nick hurt him, a feeling he swore he’d never make anyone else experience, and here he is, doing it anyway. Nick seems at peace with it though, at least better than Harry had a year ago when Nick had broken up with him. Harry wishes there were another way, that he could go off and travel without worrying that he’s holding Nick back, but he can’t. It’s too hard. 

He’s got to just let Nick go, and if they come back to each other in the end, then it was meant to be.

The day Harry’s supposed to leave, Nick pretends he’s still asleep even as he hears Harry milling about, deliberately being loud in hopes of waking him. Harry leaves him with a kiss on the forehead and a whispered _goodbye_ , and an even softer _I love you_. 

Nick buries his face in his pillow as he hears the front door close downstairs. He tries not to cry into his pillow, but it doesn’t matter, really. Now there’s nobody around to see it, nobody who will even know he’s shed a tear, because now he’s all alone.


	3. Autumn '10-Summer '11

Niall hadn’t really wanted to live in the halls for his second year, but most of his friends just live at home, so he’s got no other choice. He’s not even moved in when his flatmate starts to bother him, some bloke named Nathan who takes up all the fridge space and won’t even bother with a proper hello. Bags still packed and shoved in a corner of his room, Niall stuffs his wallet and keys in his pocket and walks out, deciding that he’d rather have a pint or two before he tries to deal with his roommate.

He shoots off a text to some friends to see who’s free, and only Bressie replies. _come to the house!_

Niall’s sure that visiting Bressie means some good old Irish hospitality - the very sort of thing he’s been itching for since he met his roommate - so Niall changes course and starts walking toward the familiar location of Bressie’s house. Bressie had stayed in Colchester most of the summer, whereas Niall went back to Ireland to see his family and meet his new nephew Theo. They’d wanted to meet up, but never got the chance to travel even just between England and Ireland, so they haven’t seen each other in months. It’ll be nice, Niall thinks, to be around someone friendly again.

When he arrives, Niall lets himself in and calls out, “Hey, Brez?”

“C’mon in, chief!” Bressie announces, though Niall can’t see him yet.

Bressie walks out into the lounge just a minute later, wearing shorts and a tee shirt and looking laid back and cozy with his bare feet and rumpled hair. “Sorry, nothing’s cleaned up yet and I haven’t gotten dressed, but I wanted to see you,” he says with a grin.

He’s got a dark beer in each hand, the head of it all foamy and thick and white, and Niall smiles. Bressie offers him one and they sit down on the sofa together. Niall sighs heavily and Bressie asks, “So what’s got you drinking at eleven o’clock?”

Niall just groans. He takes a big, long gulp of his Guinness before he says, “My roommate is a total nightmare. Ten minutes with him and I already want to wring his neck.”

“That bad, huh?” Bressie asks. Niall nods and slouches into the cushions of the couch. “At least you’re not plotting his death, instead,” he offers optimistically.

Niall shrugs, because that’s one way to look at it, but it’s still frustrating. “I dunno how I’m supposed to deal with him the rest of the year.”

“I’m sure he can’t be _that_ awful. You hardly know him,” Bressie tries.

Niall knew he’d be disappointed no matter what, being stuck with a roommate when he was so sure he’d get a single room this year, but Nathan is something else. After taking another sip of beer, Niall pulls his phone out of his pocket and pulls up his new roommate’s Facebook. It’s a photo he took right after Niall left, with Niall’s stuff all piled on his bare mattress - the fact that he’d moved Niall’s things was enough to bother him - but more than that, he’s got his bong in the corner and posters of naked women on the walls. “You think he’s not _that_ awful?” Niall asks, showing him the panoramic photo Nathan had taken.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Bressie’s quiet for a moment before he says, “Be right back. Promise.”

He leaves the room, and Niall takes that opportunity to reply to Liam, who’d sent him a message after Niall arrived at Bressie’s. _out with soph! lets get pints soon mate! missed u!_ Niall sends back a quick _deffo!_ and then scrolls through Twitter to pass the time. He’s got no idea where Bressie’s gone or what he’s talking to Eoghan and Laura about - because he can hear their muffled voices somewhere in the house - but as long as he hasn’t got to leave, he’s fine.

Bressie comes back a few minutes later, breathless but looking pleased. “Well, if you can get those uni bills to pay for this place instead of the halls, you can move in here. I just checked with the others. Our fourth housemate backed out of the deal about a month ago and we just figured it’d be easier to cover that bit of rent ourselves.”

“You lot are just too picky,” Niall teases. “You’re all so close, the poor fourth housemate will stand out so bad.”

“Unless it’s you,” Bressie says, sitting back down next to Niall. “What d’you say?”

The thought of living with Bressie does funny things to Niall, makes him feel warm inside and eager to move and far too guilty for being so pleased at the idea of living with Bressie and seeing him every single day for at the very least, a whole year. “Yeah,” Niall grins. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

“Great,” Bressie smiles back, and they toast their beers to celebrate.

\+ + + 

Louis gets in around five in the morning, cold and tired and already feeling his hangover creeping in when he stops dead in his tracks.

His mum is sitting on the sofa, looking exhausted, waiting for him.

“I wasn’t sure if you were alive,” she says, looking far too tired and too old to be as young as she actually is.

Louis trips over his own two feet as he walks in. “I am. Why?”

Jay holds up her phone and waves it in front of him. “I sent you some texts. Had to figure out where you were because I had to tell you something very important, but you were out getting pissed again, weren’t you?” she asks. She sounds like she’s on the verge of tears.

“Mum - ,” Louis begins to protest.

“You’re scaring me, Louis,” she says sadly. “You’re hardly sober at all now, and I dunno what in the world has gotten into you. All I know is that I don’t want the kids seeing you like this. I don’t want them exposed to this.”

“I’ve been hiding it,” Louis argues. “I don’t let the little ones know.”

“But what about Lottie? And Fizzy? Both of them have said they’ve had to drag you up the stairs and clean up your sick and Fizzy’s even sat by your bedside with a bucket all night because she didn’t want you to drown in your own sick, you were so drunk,” Jay says, tears in her eyes. “And then last night - last night we all needed you, and you weren’t here. You were gone, doing the very same thing all over again.”

Louis has never heard his mum so upset, not in ages, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. He swallows hard and sits down next to her. She looks away. “You smell awful,” she says.

“You sort of caught me before a shower,” Louis replies.

His mum is quiet and Louis doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what she expects him to say, or what she wants him to do. He’s an adult and he’s capable of making his own decisions. “What did you guys need?” he asks finally.

Before his mum even says a word, she starts crying again. Louis is alarmed and doesn’t know what to say, so he settles for an arm around her shoulders. He’s worried about getting too close to her now that she’s told him how awful he smells, and more than that, he’s still feeling a bit buzzed and doesn’t want his mum to know. It takes a few minutes of her crying before she says, “Your nan passed away last night. The girls are a wreck and I’m not any better. They were asking after you, even. They thought you could make it better.”

“Mum.”

He’s breathless, the loss like a weight, hard and unmoving on his chest, keeping Louis from getting the oxygen he needs. His breathing is shallow and he feels his hands shaking, and he doesn’t know what in the world to say or do, all he knows is that one of the most important people in his life is gone and he doesn’t have the emotional capacity after everything else to handle something like this.

“Sweetheart,” his mum says sympathetically, her hand around his shoulder now.

Louis doesn’t feel the tears on his cheeks at first, not until his mum is wiping them from his face, and her words are just a faint echo in his ears. The alcohol is making his reaction worse, he knows, but this hurts. Knowing that his nan is gone is like a knife to the chest, twisting and twisting, over and over again until he can hardly find air. Jay holds him even though he smells awful, and she pats his hair, and it feels like he’s a kid again, nestled up against his mum, desperate for comfort in times of such great sadness.

Jay kisses the top of Louis’s head and says, “Have a shower. I’ll make you a cup of tea and we’ll have a cuddle before the kids are up. Just you and me, like old times.”

Louis sniffles, the sound ugly and disgusting, snot gathering in his throat to make him cough. He wishes he’d known, wishes he’d gone to see her like he’d promised he would, but never had. That one last time - his last chance, apparently - and he never took it. It’s all over.

He cries in the shower, but it helps that the water is trickling down his face as well. Sobriety has hit him hard all of a sudden, the pain radiating in his head and his whole body, a full night of dancing and maybe some sex that he can’t really remember taking its toll on him, and by the time he’s in some clean pajamas and downstairs in the kitchen, he’s feeling ready to die. Without words, his mum slides some water and paracetamol across the counter, waiting for him to take it before she gives him his tea. He sniffles, tears subsided for now, but he’s sure they’ll be back soon.

They curl up on the sofa, the sounds of Dan getting ready for work in the background, Louis and his mum sipping tea in the silence. “I dunno what’s been going on with you lately, Lou Bear, but it worries me. A lot,” she says softly. “If you’re not going to straighten out and get your life together… I dunno if I can let you keep staying here. I’m sorry, but - I don’t want the kids growing up around that.”

“I understand,” Louis says, his voice hoarse. And he does, he really does, but hearing it still hurts. He closes his eyes and let the tea warm him from the inside out. “I’m sorry I never went to see nan one last time,” he whispers. 

Jay looks over at Louis and says, “I suppose that’ll teach you.” She winces at how harsh her own words sound. “I’m sorry, love, but it’s true. If this new lifestyle is what you want - these are the sorts of consequences you’ll have to deal with.”

“Mum - ,”

He should have known she’d outsmart him, that she’d loop them right back around to the topic he’d tried to get away from. She eyes him over her mug of tea and says, “I know you’ll do the right thing, in the end. I just hate that I can’t push you along, is all.”

Louis sighs. He knows she’s right but he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do if he’s not going out to parties. Nothing else makes sense to him. He’s not a uni guy and he’s most definitely not ready to settle down yet. He’s trying to find work, but everything in Colchester is shitty and he doesn’t want to waste his time with it, so what else is there?

The sound of one of the younger twins crying pulls him from his thoughts. His mum sighs, sounding exhausted even just through that, so Louis says, “I’ve got them. You stay here.”

Each step up the stairs puts the thoughts deeper and deeper into Louis’s head, reminding him that he could be losing all this soon. His mum’s warned him to shape up or get out, except Louis doesn’t know how to shape up. It’s a shitty situation all around, and he’s not ready to really face it. Not after losing his nan - and before he could visit her one last time, too. It all hits him at once, the overwhelming feeling of _I’m going nowhere with my life_ and great loss and sadness, and when he walks into the room to see Ernest standing in his cot, reaching for him and red in the face from crying, he breaks down.

Louis picks up his only brother and snuggles him to his chest, patting his back and bouncing him to calm him as he walks out into the hallway. He settles down once he’s got his dummy in his mouth again, but he still whimpers. Louis cries into Ernest’s shoulder, patting his hair as he cradles him, and he draws comfort from his brother. Ernest’s little hands fist tightly into Louis’s shirt and slowly, right there in the corridor, Louis slides down the wall until he’s sitting against it, knees to his chest with Ernest wedged warmly in between. “Shh,” Louis whispers to his brother, though Ernest stopped crying a bit ago.

He pretends it’s not the other way around, that he’s not the one drawing the comfort from a toddler, but it doesn’t help at all. Louis just closes his eyes and lets more tears spill as he and Ernest cuddle in the hallway, the only noise save for the adults downstairs.

Louis decides he just really wants things to be okay again. If not for himself, then for Ernest and the rest of them.

He helps get Ernest changed and ready for breakfast, Doris still peacefully sleeping up in her cot. “She’s an awful lot like you sometimes,” Jay says with a nostalgic smile, thinking back to all the mornings where Louis would sleep in, the fact that he slept through the night at an incredibly young age, how he was such an easy child back then.

Louis forces himself to smile, but he’s too sad to do it properly. He excuses himself once Ernest starts to eat his mashed bananas and goes up to his room and gathers up some of his things. He throws on trackies and an old hoodie and goes down the street, just like he always does when he’s upset. Except Liam isn’t there. He knocks, and Liam’s mum answers. She says that Liam’s away at Sophia’s but he can try calling if it’s important.

He hopes to god that Liam’s mum didn’t see the way his lip started to tremble at that. His chest is heavy with the hurt of losing his nan and being on the verge of losing his home, and he’d just wanted Liam to be there to help him. He doesn’t think it’s such a bad thing to ask for, someone to be there for him when he’s down. As he walks back to his house, Louis considers seeing if Harry’s home, but he’d seen on Facebook that Harry was in Glasgow just two days ago, so the chances are slim.

The house is still quiet when Louis gets back, and his mum just lets him dash upstairs without a word. She can sense he’s upset and looking for a friend; it makes her heart ache that he’s having to go it without any of them. Back in his room, Louis pulls his phone from the charger. He knows it’s early, but he can’t think of anyone else to call. Louis finds Eleanor’s name in his contact list and hits ‘call,’ and waits as the line rings.

“H’lo?” she answers, her voice thick with sleep.

“El,” Louis starts, and he wants to use words, he really does, but the pain and the sadness and the worry that he’s going to lose everything hits him too hard, the words too much for him to say, and he just lets out a sob instead. His cheeks are wet, he can feel them, and he hates himself for crying because he’s supposed to be older, tougher, but he’s not. He’s just really, really not any of that.

There’s rustling on the line and Eleanor clears her throat. Louis doesn’t know what to say, can’t tell if she’s waiting for him to say anything at all, but he doesn’t think he could find the breath and the break in sobs to do it anyway. “Louis, whatever it is, it’s going to be alright,” Eleanor reassures him, her voice soft and gentle.

“It’s not,” he breathes.

He’s sat in the middle of his bed, knees to his chest, and he buries his face in his knees as he holds the phone to his ear. Eleanor lets him cry, soothing him from time to time with little platitudes of _I’m right here_ , and _you’re not going this alone, alright?_ She sounds both tired and sad, and Louis feels awful for waking her at such a ridiculous hour, but he needed her. He needed _someone_ , and right now Eleanor feels an awful lot like all he’s got left.

It takes a whole ten minutes before Louis’s tears begin to subside and the line grows quiet. “Feel better?” Eleanor asks when she’s sensed that he’s finished crying.

“No,” Louis says honestly. “But thanks.”

“Course,” she replies. She pauses for a minute, like she’s considering whether to even ask, but eventually she does. “What happened?”

Louis uses the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe at his face, and he sniffles, loud and thick, before he says, “Came back drunk. Mum wants me to shape up or she won’t let me live here anymore.” Eleanor is quiet. “Oh, and my nan died.”

“Louis…”

He sniffles again, and he feels the way his lower lip shakes, tears threatening to fall once again. Louis presses his palm to one of his eyes, begging his body not to break down again, willing himself to just keep it together for the duration of the phone call, at the very least. “Louis, I’m so sorry,” Eleanor says. Her voice is breathless and light, like she’s just as sad as Louis feels. It’s oddly comforting, in a way, and Louis finds himself feeling quite glad in that moment for having called Eleanor. “About your nan. The other stuff, well… I love you, but we’ve got to chat about that later. It’s not important right now, though.”

“So you agree with mum?”

Eleanor sighs. “I think she’s got a point, but I think there’s room for compromise,” she concedes. Louis is silent. “I’m not taking her side, Louis. I’m just saying… that situation is very complicated. We should talk about it when you’re not so upset.”

“It’s bullshit,” Louis mumbles, though there’s no feeling behind it, no anger. “All of this is bullshit. I didn’t get to see Nan one last time, and I’m never going to see her ever again, and…”

“And everyone is moving on or moving away or leaving you and it hurts,” Eleanor finishes for him, her voice full of sympathy.

“Yes,” Louis says wetly.

He wipes at his eyes again, some stray tears leaking out of the corners, and Eleanor says, “I wish you could come visit. I miss you, and I wish I could do more to help you.”

“I _could_ visit,” Louis insists.

Eleanor tuts, and Louis feels a bit angry at her for it. He knows he could do it, he’d just have to save up. “That means a job, and then being able to take time off of the job,” she reminds him. “D’you really think you could do that?”

“Do you think I could do that?” he asks, sounding hurt.

“I think you’re able, yes,” Eleanor tells him. “But I think maybe you’re not in the right place to be able to,” she adds. “Like… you’ve got a lot of stuff going on, Louis. You’re coping with your friends moving away and moving on, and now your nan, and working on not partying so much, and it’s a lot. I don’t want you to get too overwhelmed.”

“I’m fine,” Louis says. “I’ll come visit. I can do it.”

“Alright,” Eleanor concedes, sounding amused. “Alright. You save up what you need and you can stay with me when you visit.”

“I’m doing it,” he warns her.

“Good.”

And just like that, Eleanor’s not only got him smiling, but got Louis setting goals. She’s got him working toward something. He doesn’t realize it, of course - not consciously - but one day he’ll thank her for it. He finds himself smiling because he _knows_ he can prove to Eleanor that he can do this, and when he rings off a minute later, he pulls out his laptop and sends an email to his boss, asking for more hours. He’s not going to lose his place in his mum’s house, and he’s not going to end up a stupid drunken nobody from Essex. Louis is determined to make something of himself, and he’s going to do it _now_.

\+ + +

The fire lit within Louis isn’t gone, but it’s been tamed, for sure. He’s working a little more, but he hasn’t done much else, and he’s nearly twenty-two now. He likes his job though, working at the radio station. He’s the assistant to the manager, which is just a fancy way of saying he’s a secretary, but he’s learned a lot so far. Louis would hate it much more if Nick still worked there, of that he’s sure. It’s decent work, though, getting to watch and see what he could aspire to one day, if he ever found the motivation for it. He hates that he’s gotten to this point of having to take whatever job he could, but his mum told him he had to move out if he didn’t get a job and start setting a proper example for the kids, and Louis can’t really blame her any. He gets it. Besides, he could’ve been stuck at the diner with the girl from his year who quit before A-levels. She’s got two kids now. It’s sad, really.

He works hard, though, because Eleanor’s invited him out for Freshers Week, to take him to all the best parties and to hopefully cheer him up. Louis doesn’t know how it happened, but what started out as an innocent hookup at a party has become one of the greatest friendships he’s ever had. Eleanor’s there for him when the others aren’t, but she’s far enough away that it’s not a draining friendship, not one he’s got to put too much effort into. They talk when they can, and she’s supportive like nobody else, and Louis trusts her with all the thoughts in his head that he’s not so sure even Liam understands. He’s not replacing Liam, that’s definitely not what’s happening, it’s just that - well, Eleanor gets it. The emotional stuff. The crushes and bad relationships and all the hurt that comes with the past.

The day he actually hops the train for Manchester, he’s hardly gotten any sleep the night before. He hasn’t gotten to travel much, and having a whole week without responsibility sounds like the greatest week of his life.

Eleanor’s there to meet him at the train station, and she beams as soon as she sees him. She looks so much older now, even just a few months after he’s last seen her. They’d spent some time together before she’d gone off to London for an internship, and now - Louis knows they’re just friends, that they’re only ever going to just be friends, but he sort of likes that. Girls don’t ever just want to be his friends. It’s a been-there, done-that sort of thing, he supposes.

She wraps him up in a hug, and she’s taller now, he notices. Louis looks down and says, “You’re cheating! No heels when you’re around me!”

Eleanor laughs and tucks her long, dark hair behind her ear as she glances down at her boots. They’re black, tall platform boots, and she hadn’t thought twice when she put them on. “You’ll just have to deal with it,” she teases. “Not my fault you’re short.”

“Oi!” Louis protests. He slings his duffle over his shoulder and says, “I’m five foot nine. You’re just a giant.”

Eleanor just laughs in reply and leads him out of the station and into the streets of Manchester. “So this is where you’ve been studying, huh?” Louis asks as he looks around.

He’s been out of Colchester a few times in his life, but he was really too young to remember well. This is only the second big city he’s ever been to, aside from London, and it’s a lot to take in. Louis finds he quite likes it, the bustle of the city and the way there’s more people, the way nobody looks at him like they already know him. “Yeah,” Eleanor replies, pulling Louis from his thoughts. “I can’t believe I’m starting my second year already.”

“D’you like it then? School?” Louis asks.

Eleanor’s leading them to the bus station, which will take them back to her flat near campus, and Louis is just following behind like a trailing puppy. He’s got big eyes like one, too, what with all the new stuff surrounding him. Manchester is really, very beautiful.

“It’s school,” Eleanor replies vaguely. “Some of it’s difficult, but I quite like being away from home. Mum and dad send me care packages all the time. I think they miss me more than I miss them, which sounds awful, but there’s just so much to do here.”

“It’s alright,” Louis says. “I think that’s supposed to be part of it, from what I can tell.”

Eleanor glances over at Louis, looking sad. “None of that,” she reminds him. “We promised we’d have a good time. We can only talk about our feelings in the dark, like at a sleepover. That’s the deal, remember? You need cheering up.”

“I know,” Louis nods.

The whole week sounds like it’s going to be straight out of a chick flick, and even though Louis knows it sounds awfully girly, it’s not like he hasn’t done it before. He’s got five sisters now, after all. Eleanor reaches over for his hand and gives it a comforting squeeze just as the bus pulls up to the kerb. They pay their fare and take a seat, and Louis sits by the window so he can watch as more of the city rolls on by.

Eleanor’s flat is cute, and clearly lived in by girls, because there’s pictures of attractive men on the walls and there’s fresh, real flowers in a vase on the table, and the amount of healthy food in her kitchen is insane. “Haven’t you got any junk food?” Louis asks as he rummages about for a snack. Eleanor had told him to make himself at home, after all.

She laughs and points to the cupboard above the fridge. Louis stands on his tip toes, but can’t reach, and that’s when Eleanor walks up and jokes, “Maybe you should get some platform boots.”

With ease, Eleanor reaches up above the fridge and pulls out an unopened bag of salt and vinegar crisps. “Bought them especially for you,” she says as she hands them to Louis, who looks rather baffled.

“I could wear those boots better than you,” he says flippantly as he takes the bag of crisps and opens them, sending a few flying all over the flat.

Eleanor looks at him, bemused, and says, “I will take these off right now and make you prove it. Don’t test me.”

Louis just laughs.

It takes less than forty-eight hours and only four shots to have Louis slipping his feet into Eleanor’s boots. She and her flatmates dare him to go out to a gay bar on Canal Street with them, dressed in a vest and skinny jeans and those crazy high-heeled boots, but he ends up tripping down the stairs on his way out and sitting at Eleanor’s with ice on his ankle the whole night, instead.

Eleanor’s flatmates leave them behind, leaving El on the sofa with Louis’s head in her lap, his foot propped up on the arm of the sofa with a bag of ice draped over his ankle. “I could’ve pulled tonight,” he whines. “Especially in those boots.”

“You stick to being short, I think it’ll work better for you,” Eleanor replies, bemused.

“I still could’ve pulled, but instead I’m stuck here watching a film with you,” Louis moans, but he’s tipping his head back to grin up at Eleanor, and she’s smiling back.

She smacks him on the face with a throw pillow and says, “Be nice, else I won’t go get you food when you’re hungry for it. I’ll make you walk.”

Louis tries to wrestle the pillow away from her, but she’s got the advantage, being the one who could very easily chuck him on the floor. When she puts it out of his reach, she looks down at Louis who’s decided to pout again. “What if I can’t walk the rest of the week?” he whines.

“Don’t be a baby,” Eleanor replies. “I’ve rolled my ankle a few times in those. We’ll just wrap your foot before we go out tomorrow.”

“That’ll be sexy,” Louis mocks. “Get someone to take me home, we get naked, and then _bam_ , an ugly, smelly foot wrap.”

Eleanor laughs at the mental picture and says, “Go on, now you have to do it!”

“Don’t dare me, I get hurt whenever you dare me to do things,” Louis whines.

They smile at each other for a moment and Louis feels more lighthearted than he has in longer than he can remember. “Thanks for having me out here,” he says, getting serious this time as he looks up at her.

“Of course, Louis,” she nods. “I’m weirdly protective of you now. Dunno what it is about you, though - you’re a menace.”

Louis smiles, satisfied, and turns his head to try to focus back on the film. He ends up dozing off, only waking when she switches out her lap for the pillow she’d chucked at his face earlier. “Where are you going?” he asks.

“Just going to make some tea. D’you want any?” she asks as she straightens up and walks to the kitchen.

“Yeah, please,” Louis says, sitting up as well. He grabs the ice pack - or rather, the bag of water since the ice has now melted - and sets it aside. When he stands, it hurts a bit to put weight on it, but he knows he’ll be fine in a day or two. He wanders into the kitchen and hops up onto the counter next to where Eleanor’s putting the kettle on. “Are we going to talk yet?”

“I’m surprised you want to,” she comments. “But yeah, we should. You definitely should. You worried me a lot last year, Louis.”

Louis looks guiltily on at her and shrugs. “It’s easier to get fucked up than to actually deal with this,” he says simply. “Besides, as me mum says, I can be a bit emotionally unavailable sometimes. And I’m ace at holding grudges.”

“You’ve got to work on that,” Eleanor warns him. She pulls two mugs out of the kitchen cabinets and then starts fussing with her hair, wrapping it up in a bun atop her head so it’s out of the way as she bustles about the kitchen.

With a sigh, Louis says, “Well, it’s not like I can do much else. You know how boring Colchester is.”

“Yeah,” Eleanor agrees. “But you’ve got Niall now, right? And Liam and Sophia haven’t moved, you can still hang out with them.”

“It’s different now, though,” Louis sighs. “Liam and Sophia have gotten really bloody serious about each other. They’re probably going to be shacking up together, next. And here, I was going to ask Liam to get a place with me, since I can afford it now!”

Eleanor smiles at him. “You’ve got a job that pays well?”

That makes Louis sit a bit taller, getting to talk about what he’s achieved, and he nods as he says, “A proper full-time job, over at the radio station. I’m assistant to the manager, so it’s just a bunch of paperwork and errands, but he lets me shadow him sometimes. The management stuff doesn’t look like awful work.”

“I could see you being the boss of a whole station of people,” she says, half-mocking, but mostly serious. Louis would really be good at managing others, at making big decisions for a company. He’s a risk-taker, but he’s practical - at least he is when it comes to everything other than himself.

“Think I could do it, actually,” Louis says, looking rather serious. “He’s getting old, the manager. I think maybe I might have a chance when he retires.”

Eleanor smiles brightly at him, pausing from where she’s pouring the tea over the leaves in their mugs. “That’s brilliant, Lou.”

He can’t help but smile at that; he really is proud of where he’s gotten, even if he’s not so proud of everything else he’s ever done. It feels good, too, being praised by someone other than his family. He knows that his family is going to support him no matter what - it’s his friends who are going to be brutally honest with him.

“What about Harry? And Niall?” she asks, moving back to the conversation they’d been having before.

Louis shrugs. Eleanor hands Louis a mug of tea and climbs up on the counter to sit next to him before clutching her own in both hands, soaking up the warmth. Louis is quiet for a minute before he says, “Harry took off to London and now I hear him on the radio all the time, and Niall - well, we were never that close to begin with. But he’s living with his boyfriend now, so I barely see him.”

Eleanor frowns and with a soft, hesitant voice, asks, “And Zayn?”

That draws a heavy sigh out of Louis and he doesn’t quite know how to reply. He’s got the answer, but Zayn - well, he’s most certainly not going to want Louis. That’s for damn sure. “He’s got his kid now, he doesn’t have time for anyone else,” Louis says, and his voice makes it sound final, like he’s not willing to talk about him any more than that.

Eleanor doesn’t push him.

They go out the next night, to a house party down the street from Eleanor’s flat, and Louis goes absolutely wild. He and Eleanor and her flat mates take shots and then go down to the basement where there’s a dance party going on, music booming so loud Louis is shocked that the entire city can’t hear it. There’s a disco ball on the ceiling and strings of coloured lights draped haphazardly on the walls, and before he knows it, he’s caught up in the center of a bunch of bodies, someone grinding against his front, but he can’t see her face properly. She’s pretty, and she’s clearly interested in him, so Louis sees no fault in taking her hand and leading her down the hallway and into the first room he finds. Eleanor spots them as they’re leaving the dance floor and she winks as she gives him a thumbs up.

It’s a storage closet, but it’s got room for both of them, and she’s clinging to his front. They start kissing messily, her blonde hair getting in his way, and he cards his hands through it to keep it out of her face. There’s a blank space of wall opposite the door, where there’s no shelving, and he pushes her up against it. Her legs move up to wrap around his waist and every muscle in Louis’s body is straining, but this is what he wanted - to get away, to have some fun, to pull someone he’s probably never going to see again.

He fumbles around a lot, and it’s over rather soon, but she looks totally wrecked by the time Louis’s done with her so he counts it as a win. “So I -,” she says breathlessly as she tries to pull her pants back up and adjust her skirt over them. She’s got scratches up one leg - Louis hadn’t realized he’d been so rough. “I should probably know your name. Just - you know - to be sensible.”

Louis smiles. “For purely pragmatic reasons, yeah?” he asks. He’s pulling his jeans back up and zipping the fly as she adjusts her shirt. “I’m Louis.”

“Briana.”

He’s not one to be an arsehole about things, so as she steps toward the door, Louis stops her. He leans in for another kiss and grins into it, a hand sliding around her waist, settling at the small of her back. “Don’t get too clingy, now,” she teases, pushing playfully at his chest.

Louis chuckles; he’s drunk, and this girl is sweet and makes him laugh, and he’s honestly so glad they went out to this party. His ankle hurts like hell and his whole body is sore from holding her up against the wall for however long they were at it, but he’s sated and happy. It’s been awhile since Louis got off with someone, and he’s missed the satisfied feeling it gives him, the way his orgasm relaxes him, but also makes him feel proud, because he’s given the same sort of feeling to someone else.

She kisses him one last time and then sidles past him, leaving Louis behind in the storage closet. He emerges a minute later, and Eleanor’s in the same corridor, except she’s queued for the loo. “That line’s going to take forever,” Louis teases, poking at her stomach.

“Louis, don’t!” she whines. She’s drunk too; her whole face is flushed and her usually straight, sleek hair is a frizzy mess with all the humidity of the basement, and it’s honestly the greatest party either of them have been to in a while. Louis laughs evilly. Eleanor decides to change the subject and looks over her shoulder at Briana as she says, “She’s cute.”

“Yeah,” Louis nods. “She was great.”

“But not as great as me,” Eleanor counters.

Louis just grins and shakes his head. “Still harbouring feelings for me, love?” he asks. He’s taken up spot in the queue with Eleanor, keeping her company as she wiggles impatiently.

Eleanor just elbows him rather roughly in the ribs.

Louis ends up fetching them more drinks to sip on whilst they wait in line, and by the time it’s actually Eleanor’s turn, she’s nearly crying with it. After that, they go upstairs and she sends off a text to her flatmates telling them that she and Louis are leaving the party. They wander down the sidewalk, arm in arm, trying desperately not to look so drunk as they walk in a curvy line all the way back. They’re giggling like mad and it takes them forever to get up to Eleanor’s flat, but once they’ve made it, it feels like the biggest relief in the world.

Eleanor moves to her dresser to find some pajamas and Louis peeks over her shoulder, stealing the blue snowflake onesie that she keeps for especially cold winter nights. She snorts with laughter as he changes into it, while she puts on a much more sensible combination of a tee shirt and flannel bottoms. They tumble into bed and curl up under the blankets, rolling toward each other naturally. Their noses bump and Eleanor bursts out laughing for no particular reason. “Eleanor, get it together!” he admonishes.

That just makes her laugh even harder, and Louis snuggles them both up under the blanket as he says, “You’re such a giggly drunk. I love it.”

“I love _you_ ,” she replies, her giggles diminishing as she looks at him earnestly in the darkness. “You’re one of my best friends.”

“Awwww,” Louis teases, but then he gets serious and nods, “You’re mine, too.”

That puts a big smile on Eleanor’s face, and curled up together in the middle of her bed, the two of them pass out.

Eleanor surprises Louis with tickets to a Manchester United game towards the end of that week, and between that and hangovers (and plenty of hangover food), they manage to find time to curl up and talk about everything that’s been bothering Louis. She even has the guts to bring the conversation back to Zayn.

“You like him, don’t you?” she asks softly, the last night Louis is in town as they’re cuddled up under a blanket on the sofa, watching old recorded episodes of Bake-Off.

Louis sighs. He’s glad that they’re both facing the telly; he doesn’t want Eleanor to look at his face, to read him like a book. “I mean, I care about him, if that’s what you mean,” he hedges.

Eleanor reaches down underneath the blanket and holds Louis’s hand, her head still resting on his shoulder as they lay there in the dim light of the lounge lamp. “It’s okay to have feelings for him, you know. Romantic feelings, I mean,” she reminds him.

“We just fucked,” Louis says, his voice tense. “It was just a stupid fuck in the back of my car, nothing special.”

“But doesn’t he call you? Don’t you still think about him all the time?” Eleanor presses.

Louis feels tense, and he’s clutching her hand rather tightly, but he doesn’t shy away. Louis knows that if he’s going to open up about this to anyone, it’s going to be Eleanor because at least she’s around to care. “It’s confusing,” he explains. “It’s like - yeah, part of me thinks he’s like, really fucking hot.”

“Everyone thinks he’s really fucking hot,” Eleanor reminds him.

“I know,” Louis frowns. “That’s why this is like - all fucked in my head. Because he’s totally fit and he’s got a kid now, and he could have his pick of anyone on the planet. And like - that’s just it, too. The kid part, I mean. I’ve seen Perrie post about her on Facebook a few times. Zayn’s a dad now and he hasn’t got time for me. Didn’t want to make time for me.”

“Have you spoken to him at all lately?”

Louis feels a tightness in his chest, a confusion that he doesn’t know what to do with. He feels completely lost but at the same time like he knows that it’s really a simple problem. He could fix it quite easily if he’d just get over himself, but he doesn’t want to intrude or impose - and he’s not so sure that he’s worth Zayn uprooting his life for. “Um - last I heard from him was months ago,” Louis admits. “Last May, I think? He was piss drunk and called because Perrie’d broken up with him.”

Eleanor looks over at Louis, surprised. “And he called you?” she asks curiously. Louis just nods. “That’s - I mean, I’m not saying this is what happened, but think about it - who do we call or talk to when we’re drunk? When we’re most honest?” Louis looks over and stares at Eleanor blankly. She smiles and says, “The people we like. Or the ones we care about most.”

“He doesn’t -,”

“He might.”

Louis looks unsure, but Eleanor looks absolutely positive that she’s right about this. “You should try getting in touch with him again. Maybe give him a belated gift to celebrate the baby or something,” she says.

He’s quiet as he thinks about it, as he recalls the last time he spoke to Zayn. It feels like forever ago, and just the reminder that it’s been so long leaves Louis feeling totally unhappy, like there’s a big hole in his life where Zayn used to be and he won’t be satisfied again until Zayn’s back.

“He asked me to live with him, you know.”

“See?” Eleanor says, trying not to make too big a deal out of it. “He clearly cares about you if he’d trust you with that.”

“He was drunk.”

“Which means he was honest.”

Louis frowns as he looks at Eleanor, who’s watching him with a look of slight amusement on her face. “You can be so stubborn sometimes,” she comments. “You’ve really just got to give it a go. If he was willing to have you live with him and his daughter, that’s a big deal, Louis. That’s a _lot_ of trust. Parents don’t usually introduce their kids to just anyone.”

Eleanor has a point, Louis knows this, it’s just that he really _is_ stubborn, and he’s still not sure he’s worth the trouble. He doesn’t voice that, though, doesn’t need another bout of Eleanor telling him he’s good enough. All last year, that was most of what they talked about, Louis feeling like he’s forgettable when he’s not. She’s full of affirmations, and sometimes Louis wonders why she keeps saying such nice things about him.

But she knows him better than the rest do, now. Deep in his heart Louis believes what she says - he just has to make his brain believe it, too. He nods slowly and says, “I guess I can talk to him.”

“You should,” she nods. “You deserve to be happy too, you know.”

Louis rolls his eyes, because she can’t possibly get much cheesier than that, but at the same time it puts a smile back on his face. “Well, I’m happy here with you, but noooo, we had to go and get all platonic on each other,” he mocks.

Eleanor laughs and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Sorry, love,” she says. “Maybe when we’re thirty-five if we haven’t settled down with other people, we can marry each other. Out of convenience.”

“Thirty,” Louis counters.

“Thirty-three.”

“Thirty-two.”

“Deal.”

They grin at each other and Eleanor can’t help but laugh. There’s a crash on the telly, a glass mixing bowl breaking, and they both look up. “Oh shit, we’ve missed it,” Eleanor says.

Louis holds up the remote and waves it, a big grin on his face. “Bless technology,” he says. He rewinds the show back to where they’d stopped paying attention.

Louis is reluctant to leave the next morning, but he knows he’s got to. He could only get one week of vacation from work, and besides, he’s sort of itching to go back, if only because for once he actually likes his job, something he still can’t really wrap his head around. They embrace for what feels like ages, and as they do, Louis says, “Thanks, El. For everything.”

“Of course,” she smiles. “You should visit more often.”

“With my new, fancy job I might be able to,” Louis says. “Might even be able to get a better car - one that’ll get me there without falling to pieces first!”

Eleanor grins. “That’d be lovely.” They smile at each other for a moment before Eleanor says, “I’m really proud of you, Lou. You’re already doing much better than last year.”

“I’m still going to go out and drink, you know,” he warns.

“Yes, I know,” she nods. “But I have a feeling you won’t be as reckless about it as you were last year. Especially if you move in with Zayn.”

“Oi!” Louis protests. “Nobody said anything about moving in with him.”

Eleanor smiles fondly. “If talking to him goes well and he asks, you know you’ll say yes. You know you’re ready to move out of your mum’s.”

Louis shakes his head and rolls his eyes, but he knows she’s right. God, it was so hard for him to turn Zayn down the first time he’d asked, and Louis didn’t even know where they stood at that point. But now Louis feels better about it. He feels like he can approach the situation better, actually do the right thing for once. The prospect of talking to Zayn is both exhilarating and absolutely terrifying, all at the same time, but Louis knows that at least if it doesn’t work out, he’s got Eleanor.

The train sounds, signaling that it’s time to board and depart, and Louis hugs Eleanor one more time. “Call me when you get in,” she says before planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Course. Thanks again,” he says, kissing her cheek in return.

She smiles at him as he steps away, and Louis reluctantly boards the train. He finds a spot by the window and waves to Eleanor until she sees him. Once she does, he pulls a ridiculous face, complete with crossed eyes and a stuck-out tongue, and Eleanor mirrors it right back. Louis laughs and part of him wishes he didn’t have to leave, that he could just hang out with Eleanor in Manchester forever.

But that would mean going to uni, probably - which is something Louis knows he’s probably never going to be cut out to do. He’s still on the right track though, at least to some sort of success, and he wouldn’t feel half as good about it if Eleanor wasn’t there reminding him how great it all is. Louis gets caught up in the negative so often that he needs Eleanor to shed light on everything else, to give him optimism when he’s got none.

Thanks to Eleanor, going back to Colchester doesn’t seem quite so daunting anymore. In fact, he can finally say without spite or sarcasm that he’s going home, and he’s happy about it.

\+ + + 

Harry takes to touring like a fish to water. He loves every minute of it - the traveling, the fans, the performing - it lights a fire within him that he didn’t even know he had - this desire to become more, to do more, to turn a little UK tour into something grander. He thinks if he works hard enough he can manage a world tour, but he’s not there yet, not that famous. He still listens to the Breakfast Show, just to hear Nick’s voice, but also to see if Nick bothers playing any of his songs anymore.

More of them are out now; he’s got two big singles, “Happily” and “Diana”, but he’s writing more and he’s getting a lot of ideas and inspiration for songs while he’s out on the road. The shows are bigger now, the venues selling thousands of tickets rather than the bars he’s used to, where he’d get a crowd of seventy-five, if he was lucky. It’s weird, hearing people scream and cheer all for him, all for this tall, awkward, gangly man on a stool with his acoustic guitar and his microphone.

He’s given up on his hair, trying to tame it, instead deciding to let it grow long. It’s nearly to his shoulders now, and he’s got a stylist along with him on the tour who helps him with his clothes and his hair. Harry’s learned how to tame his curls with product, that he looks best in a button-down shirt open to his stomach because the tattoos drive girls wild, and that the tighter the pants, the better. It was a weird transition for him to make, dressing so simply, but it all goes along with a record and everything else, and there’s so much more to be done than just songwriting and performing. He can’t imagine how the big-name people do it. It’s hard enough to adapt to as it is.

The worst part of being on the road, Harry’s decided, is the fact that he misses his friends and family so much. England isn’t that big, but it still feels like they’re countries away. He calls his mum whenever he can, and he’s constantly got strange emoji conversations going on with his sister Gemma, but the rest of his friends are so busy making their own, slightly smaller, dreams come true that he’s lucky if he hears from them once a week.

Niall’s the best about keeping in contact, and Harry always knew he would be. Niall’s the peace keeper of the group and he’s really good at remembering stuff about everyone, and remembering to talk to them. He tells Harry all about Bressie, about how they live in the same house with roommates now, and Harry can’t believe that Niall’s settling down with someone already. Niall seems so young, though he’s just Harry’s age. Harry couldn’t imagine doing that at this point in his life - it seems far too _permanent_. But Niall’s getting into his paediatrics work, too, doing shifts at the local clinic whilst studying, and it all makes sense for him. Niall’s a methodical-minded person, not a wanderer like Harry. It’s nice hearing about his life, too, about how it’s going and what sorts of things he and Bressie do for dates when they’ve got such crazy work hours. As it turns out, it’s not much, but Niall seems happy enough.

He’s never once gotten a reply from Louis, even though he sends him texts all the time, and he tries not to think too much about it.

Liam keeps in touch too, but he and Sophia are more serious than ever, and more often than not, he’s texting with Sophia instead to find out what’s going on with Liam. It’s rather sickening, but in the sweetest way.

Basically, Harry just really misses home. He misses the people, more than the place, but he’s happy where he’s at, too. It’s a difficult place to be in, he decides. He doesn’t know whether he should be happy or sad half the time.

And Nick - oh, Nick. Harry misses him most of all, second only to his mum. Listening to the Breakfast Show is just cruel to do to himself, Harry knows this, but he misses Nick’s voice, he misses his support and his love and more than anything, he misses his cuddles. The bunk on the tiny tour bus feels so unfriendly and cold. He’d much prefer curling up under a thick, lovely duvet with Nick, sharing little kisses and bumps of noses.

But this was best for both of them. Nick’s still working on his career, on gaining the notoriety that some of the other Radio 1 hosts already have. Helping Harry get famous really did wonders for him, but Harry knows Nick can do more. He’s eager for Nick to do more, for him to feel like he’s really reached the top of his profession.

Harry starts to feel like he’s moving on from being caught up on the way they were together in London, at least until Sheffield. Harry’s leaving the venue late at night, still buzzing off the performance high and smiling from ear to ear when he sees him. He’s standing in the alleyway nonchalantly, a cigarette perched between his fingers, and he’s pretending that there’s not a crowd at the end of the alleyway trying to get Harry’s attention. The man looks up and Harry swears that for a second, his heart stops. He looks a lot like Nick. He’s shorter, and hasn’t got the tall quiff, but he’s got the same face, the same eyes and long eyelashes, the same look Nick has on his face when he’s staring boredly at something, and Harry suddenly feels the urge to cry. He misses him so much.

He goes back to the tour bus as fast as he can, politely turning down all autograph requests because he’s suddenly feeling rather upset. He hides in his giant jacket, blaming his desire not to hang around on the October chill rather than his emotions as he walks past the crowd and into his trailer. Curled up in his bunk and hands shaking with the sudden weight of _I miss you_ , Harry dials Nick’s number.

“’lo?”

Nick sounds sleepy; Harry hadn’t even realized what time it was and what Nick might’ve been doing. Of course he’s sleeping, Harry realizes. It’s nearly midnight. “Sorry, I’ll call back later,” Harry mutters. His thumb’s nearly on the ‘end call’ button when he hears Nick shout in protest.

“What d’you need, Hazza?” Nick asks tiredly.

He yawns - Harry hears it through the line - and then there’s rustling, like he’s sitting up in bed. Harry swallows, but there’s a lump in his throat he can’t get rid of, an unsettling feeling that he can’t shake. “I miss you,” Harry whispers down the line. “I… I saw someone who looks like you tonight, and it wasn’t you, but I wished it was. I… _Nick_.”

The line is quiet and for a moment, Harry’s filled with dread at the thought that Nick’s either hung up on him or fallen back to sleep. “I miss you too, Harry,” Nick says, his voice hoarse. He’s clearly tired and Harry feels guilty for waking him.

“Can I see you again? Can you like - visit? Or, should I -?” Harry knows he sounds desperate, knows he’s probably going to get a no in reply, but he’s asking anyway on the off chance that Nick doesn’t totally despise him.

Nick’s quiet. He breathes a heavy sigh and says, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Harry’s whole body slumps as the words hit him. He frowns. “Oh.”

“It’s just -,” Nick begins awkwardly. He sighs. “Listen, I’m seeing someone. And I know how I feel about you, and there’s still part of me that wants you, but Michael - he’s good to me. I’m happy when I’m with him. I want to give it a real shot.”

“Yeah, no, of course,” Harry stammers, feeling choked and broken. “I completely understand.”

“I’m sorry.”

The line is quiet as Harry tries his hardest to blink back all of his emotions: the sadness, the tears welling in his eyes, the overwhelming, stifling, claustrophobic feeling of disappointment heavy in his chest. “Don’t be,” Harry replies softly, his voice wet. “I’m happy for you,” he lies.

Nick doesn’t say anything, and Harry feels like the conversation is done with, so he just sighs and says, “I’m sorry I woke you. Sleep well, Nick.”

His voice is so flat and defeated, but he doesn’t know how to sound more animated, not when he’s just been slapped with the realization that Nick’s moved on and Harry’s lost his chance. “Night, popstar,” Nick says, sounding just as upset.

Harry rings off and closes his eyes, exhaling slowly in hopes of calming himself down. It doesn’t work. That night he sheds more tears into his pillows than he’ll ever admit, and wishes for the first time ever in his life that he’d never pursued this silly dream of being a musician. He feels further from his friends and family than ever, and he doesn’t like it one bit. The loneliness is more than he can handle.

\+ + +

It’s strange for Bressie, getting used to not seeing Niall around. Now that he’s doing his placements in GP surgery, their paths don’t cross much. When Bressie’s home, Niall’s gone, either in class, at course placement, or sleeping. He finds himself wondering at all hours what Niall’s up to, if he’s getting enough sleep. He wishes he could get more than a text message at odd hours or the comforting sound of Niall’s footsteps on the stairs, heading up to his attic bedroom, but he’ll take something over nothing at all.

Bressie’s had a long day at the hospital, finishing up his placement hours, and graduation is looming on the horizon. He misses Niall like crazy, and he hopes he’s doing alright. He’d sent a text earlier explaining that he was doing his first twelve-hour day, now that it’s November and he’s learned what he needs to, and said that he was nervous about it. Bressie reassured him because Niall’s a natural at nursing, but he hopes all he said wasn’t for naught.

It’s just past midnight when Bressie’s warm under his blankets in some boxers and a tee shirt that he hears footsteps on the stairs. They’re tired and slow, and he’s tempted to get up to see if it’s Niall - they haven’t seen each other face-to-face in almost a week, and it’s hard. It’s hard because he misses him and wants to be there for him, but it’s also hard because there’s something there - a relationship, he hopes - but they haven’t gotten to discuss it, to figure it out properly.

As luck would have it, he doesn’t have to bother. There’s a knock on his door and without hesitation, Bressie says, “Come in.”

Niall looks dead on his feet, even through the darkness. He’s still in his uniform, the cold medical blue looking pale in the moonlight, and his hair’s a mess. “Too tired to go up the stairs,” Niall mutters. Even his voice sounds strained and weak, like the tiredness has seeped its way into every inch of his body.

“Oh,” Bressie says, and it’s incredibly lame but he can’t take it back now. He winces at how awkward it was, but Niall doesn’t seem to notice. That, or he doesn’t care.

“Can I sleep here?” Niall asks hopefully.

Bressie hops out of bed right away. “Of course,” he nods. He walks over to Niall and closes the door behind him. “Y’alright?”

Niall is nearly a zombie by this point, but he nods and says, “Yeah. I’m good.”

It takes a moment of looking down at Niall and studying him closely before Bressie actually believes him, but when he does, he takes his hand and leads him to the closet. “Some of it might be a bit big, but… grab whatever you want to sleep in,” he says.

Niall yawns and Bressie feels like his heart could burst because Niall’s never looked quite as cute as he does in that moment. Niall’s hair is a mess, but looks soft and Bressie wants to touch it, pat it down to comfort Niall and help him relax. Big, puffy blue eyes look up at Bressie for a minute and he looks thankful, even if he hasn’t got the words to say as much. Niall kicks off his shoes and fumbles out of his scrubs, standing only in his pants as he looks around the closet, totally unabashed in front of Bressie. He grabs a random tee - an old Westmeath GAA one, he notices with a smile - and pulls it on. It’s nearly a dress on him, given the difference in size between the two of them, but Niall looks comfortable and ready to fall asleep right there.

“You work so hard, love,” Bressie says fondly. He wraps his arms around Niall’s waist right there in the doorway to his closet.

Niall practically collapses against him in exhaustion, all of his weight resting on Bressie because it’s too exhausting to stand up by himself. “Just a few more months,” Bressie reminds him, Niall wrapping his arms limply around Bressie’s waist in reply. “Then this placement’s done and you’ve just got a year left after a nice, long summer holiday,” he says.

“I know,” Niall sighs, relieved. 

“I want to take you out, once we have the summer off. I want to spoil you proper, with dinner and a match maybe, or we could see a concert? What do you think, chief?”

Niall mumbles something unintelligible into Bressie’s shirt and sways a little, like he’s having trouble staying awake. “Alright, let’s get you to bed,” he says, deciding to ask him out proper on another day, when he’s more well-rested.

Seeing as Niall’s so tired, he doesn’t think twice about leaning down, one arm still around his back, to use the other to scoop up Niall under his knees. He carries him that way, easily, the short distance from the closet to the bed. “You don’t have to carry me,” Niall mumbles, but he clearly needs it - he’s not putting up a fight at all.

Bressie laughs at Niall’s feeble words and lays him down on the mattress, right where he’d been lying earlier. It’s not warm anymore, but Niall still looks comfortable. Niall reaches for his hand, tugs at it right there, and Bressie climbs into bed without hesitation. It’s warm under the blankets - Bressie never sleeps with them all, anyway - but Niall goes through all the effort to pull them up over the both of them, so he doesn’t push them away. “I’ve missed you,” Bressie whispers into Niall’s temple as he leans down to kiss him there gently. “Sleep well.”

Niall’s asleep before he can even think of a reply.

But then it keeps happening, Niall coming home late. Bressie tries not to keep track, not to tick off days on a calendar since he last saw him even though they live in the same bloody house, but it’s hard. After Bressie marks off the three week mark, he’s tense. He’s not focusing well on his own placement or his own courses. He feels on edge, like he’s ready to burst, and deep down he doesn’t even know what to say to Niall the next time he sees him.

When Niall gets home on a rainy evening, Bressie doesn’t know what to do. It’s quiet and dark and he hasn’t seen Niall in what feels like years. “Can I crash here?” Niall asks, exhausted. Bressie’s heart aches because this is exactly how it had gone last time they saw each other properly.

Half-asleep, Bressie rolls over onto his back and squints at Niall through the darkness. “D’you even remember my name?” he asks. He’s shocked by his own bluntness.

Niall visibly flinches. “I’ve been studying for exams,” Niall says, his voice thin with exhaustion. “I haven’t forgotten you.”

“When was the last time we spoke?” Bressie challenges. He wants to think it’s no big deal, not seeing Niall for a while, but three weeks seems excessive. “Or the last time you replied to my texts at a decent hour? Or the last time you slept in my bed?”

Exhausted, Niall shakes his head and walks over to Bressie’s dresser to help himself to pajamas. He doesn’t want to fight right now - he’s had a rough few days in placement.

“Three weeks. Fifteen days. Nearly a month.”

Niall looks up and his eyes are shining with wet in the moonlight. Bressie sits up on his bed and looks across at Niall in the darkness. “Wasn’t even sure we were still together,” Bressie finishes. He’s hurt, and he just wants Niall to understand.

Niall’s shoulders slump. He shakes his head and says weakly, “I can’t do this right now.”

Bressie can hear the weakness in Niall’s voice, the strain that says he’s far too tired to bother doing or saying much of anything. He just wants to sleep for days - something he thought he could do, for once. With a roll of his eyes, Bressie says, “Fine. I’ve waited three weeks, what’s another day?” He pauses. “Or will you be leaving tomorrow before I wake up, again?”

Totally frustrated, Niall throws the pajamas he’d chosen down on the floor and asks, “What the fuck, Brez?”

Resigning himself to being unable to sleep, Bressie sits up in bed and switches on his bedside lamp. He combs a hand through his hair as he takes a deep breath. Niall looks terrible, pale and worn down as he stands there in his scrubs. “It’s like you aren’t trying at all,” Bressie says simply. “Am I wrong, to think maybe you blowing me off for weeks on end means something other than you want to break up?”

“I don’t -” Niall stammers. He takes a deep breath. “We can’t break up,” he pleads weakly.

“Why?” Bressie asks firmly. “Give me one good reason why.”

Niall sits down on the edge of the bed, back to Bressie, and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. He lets out a shaky breath and says, “I’m sorry, okay? I suck at handling all this pressure, with the shifts at surgery, and exams. This is all so new, and… it’s hard.”

“What’s hard? Talking to your boyfriend?” Bressie challenges.

“Right now, yes!” Niall snaps. He sighs before he amends, “But no, it’s work. My placement.”

Bressie sits in the darkness, listening to the patter of rain outside as he watches Niall rub his hands over his face, and then up into his hair and back down again to rub at his eyes. “You have it easy. You’re occupational therapy, you don’t understand how hard this can be sometimes. You’re not the one who makes parents feel like they’re doing poorly at their job because their kid isn’t as healthy as it should be. You don’t have to get spit up on day in and day out,” Niall says.

“You chose paediatrics, though,” Bressie argues. “You knew what you were signing up for.”

“I knew the kids part.”

“Well… this career of yours means you’re going to be making your living based on the assumption that kids are going to be ill and get sick,” Bressie says. It’s tough love, but Niall’s got to hear it, and if he were in any other mood, Bressie wouldn’t have the heart to give it to him. “That’s what you _do_ , Niall. You wait for them to get sick and then you make them better again.”

Niall sighs. “I can’t. Not with all of them.”

“Your job is to do the best you can,” Bressie amends. “If you don’t think you can do that, then you should bow out now before it’s too late.” He pauses. “And that goes for other stuff too, not just your job.” _It goes for relationships too_ , he thinks.

The room is silent as the rain picks up, dropping big heavy raindrops pounding against the window. It’s the only sound Bressie hears for at least a minute before Niall leans down to get the pajamas off the floor. The bed creaks as he gets them and then stands, and he’s stuffing them back in the dresser. Bressie doesn’t say a word as he watches; he’s not entirely sure what Niall’s doing now.

Once he’s put the clothes back where he got them, he walks back to the door. “Where are you going?” Bressie asks softly. After the fight, he doesn’t know where they stand.

“To give you space.”

When Niall leaves, the door lightly clicking as he closes it on his way out, Bressie realizes he still doesn’t know where they stand, and that’s a terrifying thing.

Bressie wakes before the sun’s out, meaning he’s only slept a few hours. There’s a weight in the bed next to him and an arm snaking around his waist. The scent is familiar; he knows it’s Niall. “I missed you,” he mumbles into Bressie’s back as he climbs under the covers.

Bressie doesn’t really know what to say to him; he’s still hurt about earlier, how Niall’s ignored him and then walked away when he tried to talk about it. He knows his timing was off, but he didn’t know when he’d see him next. It’s not often that Bressie gets to be the little spoon - he’ll take it.

“I missed you, too,” Bressie whispers. “I don’t know why you didn’t at least text. Or do this.”

He reaches down to where Niall’s holding him around his waist and covers his hand. Their fingers weave together and Bressie sighs. “I’m sorry if it was bad timing. I just… hadn’t seen you in so long. I was afraid if I didn’t say it right away, I’d never get the chance.”

Niall nods, Bressie can feel it on his back. Niall’s warm and smells fresh and clean. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy,” Niall says weakly. His voice sounds hoarse, like he’s been talking too long or maybe crying. Bressie tries not to think about it; when he does, he gets a terrible ache in his chest. “The hours feel like they drag on forever, and I’ve still got classroom work, and I end up sleeping at Liam’s place more often than not, because he lives right by campus. I’m too tired to even make it home. It’s like I’m a bloody robot. Sleep, study, work, repeat, you know? I even forget to eat.”

“ _You_?” Bressie asks incredulously, “Forget to _eat_?”

“It happens,” Niall nods. “A lot.” He’s quiet and Bressie wonders if he fell asleep. “I hope this isn’t how the job’s going to be forever.”

His voice sounds heavy with regret, and it makes Bressie frown. “Niall,” he says, rolling over to face him proper. “It won’t be like this forever. You won’t have exams, and you won’t have to be so many places at once,” he reassures him. “You were so sure of yourself when you chose paediatrics. You’re meant to be in the course, babe.”

“I’ve been an idiot,” Niall mutters. “Should’ve called you. Texted more. Come home.”

Bressie slides a hand through Niall’s hair; it’s soft and damp from the shower. He doesn’t know what to say though, because he agrees with Niall. He should have done more of that stuff. It would have made things easier.

“I’m scared.”

Niall’s confession is what prompts Bressie to look down, to make eye contact for the first time since Niall’s come into his room. “Scared of what?” he asks.

He lets out a heavy breath, his eyes darting down because he feels so awkward, like he wants to crawl out of his skin for it all. Bressie waits, lets Niall compose his thoughts. “All of it?” Niall says, but his brow furrows like he hates his own answer. “Losing you. Not being good enough at this job.” He’s quiet. “I still want to have a life, even with a career.”

Bressie wraps his arms around Niall and kisses the top of his head. “You’ll have a life,” he says. “And you’ve not lost me.” He looks down until Niall has the courage to face him again, and when he does, he adds, “And you’re good at this job. You’re brilliant, chief. I’ve always thought so.”

Niall doesn’t look like he believes it though. He seems so unsure about everything and Bressie’s never seen him like this before. Niall’s usually the most confident person he knows, but now he’s crumbled to nothing but what he’s trying his best to hold together, right there in his bed. Niall’s hair is disheveled and he hasn’t dyed it in ages - it’s mostly brown now. He could use a good haircut. His eyes look dull and there are bags under them, but Bressie still wants to be there, trying to help make it better. “D’you work today?” he asks softly.

“No, not until tomorrow,” Niall replies. He sounds horribly depressed about his short break.

“So we can have the day to ourselves then?” Bressie asks.

Niall nods, but he’s yawning again and saying, “Yeah, of course. I might fall asleep early tonight, though. I’m knackered.”

Bressie climbs out of bed and reaches for Niall’s hand. “C’mon, then,” he says. “We’ll spend some time together this morning and then take a nap this afternoon.”

“You haven’t got anything on?”

He shakes his head, even though he does, because he can easily call in sick. It’s worth it, for Niall. “I’m all yours today,” he says.

Slowly, lazily, Niall climbs out of bed. He winces, but tries to brush it off. “You alright?”

Niall nods. “Just me knee. It’s nothing.”

Bressie looks worried and holds Niall at his waist to help him limp across the room to the bathroom. Niall just goes where he’s taken, without really thinking much about what’s going to happen. He’s too exhausted to bother thinking about anything, at this point. “Here… sit,” Bressie says, putting the seat down on the toilet so Niall can relax.

Niall listens, and he’s groggy and he looks run-down and tired. But Bressie thinks he’s still as handsome as the first day they met. “I’m sorry,” Niall mumbles as Bressie kneels down and touches Niall’s knee gently. It’s just in his nature, being an occupational therapist, but he wants to figure out how to help him. “For like, not being around. Ever.”

Bressie’s touching Niall’s knee gently, and he doesn’t look up at first. But then Niall reaches out with both hands, to tip his face up to look at him, and he says it again: “I’m sorry.”

“I know. Apology accepted,” Bressie nods. He presses his thumb along Niall’s knee and when he hisses, Bressie pulls his hand away. He’s frowning and he says, “You should schedule a visit with a doctor when you’ve got a day off. You need to see someone about this before it worsens.”

Niall frowns. “I haven’t got the time.”

Bressie sighs. “Just a few more weeks until summer, then you get a break. I’ll get you a brace on Monday, and you’ll wear that under your scrubs until you get in to see a proper doctor,” he says. “I won’t have you getting hurt worse than you already are.”

And that’s what tells Niall that they’re going to be okay. Even through all the missing each other, through all the long hours and stressful days, they’re still going to be together. He covers Bressie’s hands where they’re gently feeling Niall’s knee and leg for more signs of injury, and he stops him so they can look at each other properly.

Niall’s so quiet, so serious, and it’s not what he’s used to seeing out of him. Bressie hates how all the long hours and coursework have taken the spark out of Niall, have reduced him to such an exhausted mess. “Thank you,” Niall whispers. He leans in to kiss Bressie softly, pouring every ounce of gratefulness into it, before he pulls away and says, “I’m sorry for how I’ve been.” Their foreheads meet and they close their eyes as they just soak in the moment. Niall’s missed Bressie _so much_.

“Yeah, you’ve said,” Bressie whispers, and he smiles. Thankfully, Niall smiles back. “I’ve forgiven you, you know. So you don’t have to keep apologizing.”

Niall kisses Bressie again, a soft peck at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I do.”

“No,” Bressie insists, rather fond of this game they’ve started. He kisses Niall again and says, “You don’t.”

That draws a laugh out of Niall, and it’s a sound like none other. Bressie’s whole spirit lifts at the sound of it, because Niall is his light, and he’s wonderful and cheerful and he just wants that Niall back. The stress is high, but hearing Niall happy makes it feel like everything will be alright.

Slowly, Bressie stands and says, “ Stay here. I’ll give you a haircut, quick.”

And Bressie’s never cut Niall’s hair before, but he’s done it for his other mates, and as long as Niall has a trim to keep the hair out of his eyes, then he’ll be alright for the final couple of weeks until summer holiday begins. He plugs in the electric trimmer and Niall closes his eyes as Bressie takes it to his hair, shortening it down to something far more manageable.

It’s relaxing for Niall, to just sit there and let Bressie take care of him. It feels better than a nap, for him, because it’s so soothing and he doesn’t have to think. Bressie takes care to keep the hair from falling in Niall’s eyes, and each of his movements is slow and deliberate to make sure he doesn’t make a mess of it. He trims the sides and the back shorter, and he feels sort of like an expert at this even if he’s never cut Niall’s hair before.

When he’s done, he stares for a moment because he’s never known Niall as a proper brunette - he’s dyed his hair the whole time they’ve known each other. Bressie rubs his hand over the newly cut, soft hair atop Niall’s head, and he smiles. “You look good as a brunette,” he says.

Niall flushes pink on the apples of his cheeks, and he stands up to look in the mirror. He smooths his own hand over his hair, and he sighs. “I’ve always preferred being blonde,” he admits. “Looks better on me.”

Bressie leans in and tucks his chin on Niall’s shoulder. “I like this, too. Makes you look older,” he says.

That makes Niall pull a face, and Bressie laughs. “We’ll dye it the next time you get a day off, if that’ll make you feel better,” he offers. “I’ll even do it for you.”

Niall snorts with laughter and shakes his head. “I don’t know if you can,” he says.

“I want to learn,” Bressie insists. “Make Liam teach me then. He’s the one who always does it now, yeah?” Niall nods. They’re looking at each other through their reflections in the mirror, and Bressie kisses Niall’s cheek before he says, “We’re together long-term, so I want to know how to help you do your hair.”

Niall’s still flushed, but he’s smiling and Bressie really loves that look on his face. “Alright,” Niall concedes. “I’ll get some dye on my way home tomorrow… I have Monday and Tuesday off.”

Bressie has to work Monday, but they’ll sort it out later. He can do it when he comes home, after Niall’s slept off his night shifts. He knows they can make this work, if they really try at it. Every ounce of him is willing to put in the time and effort to keep them together through this rough patch.

He’s got faith that now Niall’s going to try again, too.

\+ + + 

Louis is finally getting used to quiet evenings alone - as much as he hates them - when he hears his phone ringing on a Friday night. It’s strange to him, how he’s become so accustomed to being alone in the weeks since seeing Eleanor that suddenly human contact with anyone other than his family seems foreign. He figures it’s the whole moving on thing - everyone seems happy in their new lives, and Louis doesn’t know where he fits in.

When he sees Zayn’s name pop up on his phone, Louis has half a mind to ignore it. Except Zayn wouldn’t call unless he absolutely needed it, and that’s what’s got Louis swiping his thumb across the screen and accepting the call. “I haven’t heard from you in a while,” he says, foregoing all greetings.

“Louis, I need your help.”

Zayn sounds harassed and upset, and Louis can hear the screams of a baby in the background.

“She’s a baby,” Louis says, frowning. He wouldn’t have answered if he’d known Zayn just wanted to talk about his baby. The family he’s got that Louis isn’t allowed to be a part of. The baby that tore them apart. “She’s going to cry. Just feed her or check her nappy. Easy.”

“No, she’s sick.”

Zayn’s voice is weak and he sounds so worried.

“Call her mum,” Louis says curtly.

“I tried. She’s out. You’re good with kids. You probably know more than Pez anyway.” Zayn pauses, and Louis hears shuffling, and then the crying gets louder. He’s picked her up. Louis can’t remember her name. “Please, Louis. I dunno if she needs A&E or medicine or summat. She’s only four months old.”

Louis sighs heavily, hoping to give Zayn the impression that he’s really, quite busy. He hasn’t got time to make house calls as though he’s a doctor or something. Clearly he’s not. Uni hasn’t exactly been appealing to him like, ever. “What’re the symptoms?” he asks.

“She’s burning up. She’s sweating and crying and coughing and sniffling and - I don’t know what to _do,_ Louis. She’s never been sick before.”

That time Zayn’s worry doesn’t annoy Louis, it makes his chest constrict, makes him feel like he hasn’t got any air left in his lungs. This could be serious, Louis realizes. It’s right there on the edge. His mum taught him what to do, obviously, but Zayn’s got no idea what to do. “I’ll be over in a bit. D’you have like, a thermometer or anything?”

“Nothing,” Zayn says pitifully.

“Alright. I’m going to stop at the shops on the way over,” Louis tells him. “Still at the same place?”

“Yeah.”

Louis rings off, doesn’t say anything more, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He rummages through the pockets of all the jeans he can find lying around the floor of his room and scrounges up enough bills to buy some baby medicine. He stops at the chemist’s on the way to Zayn’s and spends more than he should - he buys some medicine for the baby, a thermometer that’ll be a bitch to get her to sit still for, and then a bag of crisps at the shop next door because he’s missing dinner for this.

When he arrives at Zayn’s, he hears the baby’s crying, sees Zayn in the window - the room lit up in contrast to the darkness of the evening - and Louis sighs. Zayn would look so great as a father, if he wasn’t so fucking terrified. In fact, Louis thinks, he looks quite fit as a father even when he is terrified. The very thought makes Louis feel livid through to his bones, how unfair it is that Zayn gets to have a child of his own yet Louis is still trapped as a kid under his mum’s roof. He just shakes his head, pushing himself out of it, before he lets himself into Zayn’s flat. Zayn looks over sharply, like he’s forgotten Louis’s coming over and this is what Louis does, but visibly relaxes at the sight of him.

He doesn’t say anything, just rushes over to Louis and slings an arm around his shoulders, using the other to cradle the baby to his chest. “Thank you,” Zayn says softly, hugging Louis whether or not Louis wants it.

In total self-indulgence, Louis wraps an arm around Zayn’s waist and lets himself savour the moment. Zayn smells different - less like cigarettes and spliff and more like a dad, more like talcum and soft lavender baby soap and a cologne that Louis vaguely remembers from before the baby.

And then there’s the baby.

She’s got fierce blue eyes, just like Perrie’s, but her hair’s dark as Zayn’s, black as a raven and in an unruly, damp tuft atop her head. “She’s been crying all day,” Zayn mutters as he breaks the hug. “Pezza said she was poorly, but that she was alright, no fever. But then tonight she’s… I think it’s a fever. She’s so _warm_. Louis - I dunno what to do.”

Zayn’s hair is a mess and he’s got exhaustion written in every inch of his body. He looks to Louis, eyes pleading, and Louis has some sympathy on him. They’re doing this for the baby - Louis can hold his grudge another time. “Giv’er ‘ere then,” Louis sighs, reaching out for the baby.

Gently, almost nervously, Zayn hands over the baby, transferring her to Louis’s arms whilst biting his lower lip, like he’s afraid of something. Louis hopes Zayn isn’t afraid of _him_. Louis shushes her as he cradles her to his chest, and Zayn keeps reaching out, keeps his hand on her back like he’s afraid to stop holding his own daughter. “Be good for him, Sara,” Zayn says as she starts to fuss again, louder than before.

 _Sara_ , Louis thinks. He should have known that. It’s a plain name - plainer than he’d expected from people whose names were as unique as Zayn and Perrie - but now that he sees her, it fits her. “It’s alright,” Louis says, to both of them, not just the baby. “She’s uncomfortable. She’s going to cry. Can you get the thermometer?”

He walks to the couch and sits down, cradling her as Zayn gets the thermometer out and hands it to Louis where Louis’s just unbuttoned her BabyGro to the waist and pulled one arm out of it.. “I need you to hold her, okay? Hold her very tight. You won’t hurt her, I promise. It’s just that we’ve got to hold this under her arm for a good minute or so to get a good reading,” he says, setting the thermometer aside for a minute so he can hand Sara back to Zayn.

Zayn looks terrified at having to restrain his baby, but he does it surprisingly well. Louis remembers the first time he had to help his mum do this, after Mark had left. He had to hold Daisy down as she cried and cried, and by the end he hadn’t even realized that he was crying, too. Zayn’s steeled his expression and he’s trying to stay strong, but Louis knows he’s scared. He can’t really blame Zayn all that much. If this were his own baby, he’d probably be scared too - and he already knows what to do.

“It’s an okay temperature,” Louis says as he looks down at where the mercury’s landed. “It’s high, but not high enough to warrant a trip to A&E.”

That does nothing to calm Zayn. Louis sighs and says, “We just need to give her some medicine and a bath and make her comfortable. Can you get her bath things, and a fresh BabyGro?”

“What about the medicine?” Zayn asks. He really wants to make his daughter comfortable.

Louis gently takes Sara back from Zayn and looks at him for a moment. He can’t help the wave of protectiveness that washes over him, for Zayn and Sara both. “It’ll be okay, you know,” Louis says, ignoring Zayn’s question for a moment. Zayn looks absolutely exhausted and he’s paler than usual, too. Louis sighs and answers his question, “We’ll give her some medicine after her bath. If we give her a bath in lukewarm water it’ll help nudge her temperature down. That’ll make her more comfortable and more likely to agree to the medicine.”

Zayn nods, and he stands back as Louis takes Sara to the sink and expertly undresses her with one hand. He runs some water and coos at her to comfort her. Then he takes off her nappy, and in the couple inches of water he’s plugged in the sink, he gently sets her down. Sara looks up at Louis with big blue eyes full of betrayal at the less-than-warm feeling of the water, but her fusses soon turn to calm pouts as she splashes the water lazily. It’s probably all the energy she’s got.

Louis isn’t sure when Zayn leaves the room again, but Louis doesn’t see him again until he’s got Sara in a fresh nappy and a soft white BabyGro and sucking intently on her dummy. She keeps letting out soft whimpers from time to time, but now she’s curled up against Louis’s chest and more placated than she’d been earlier. Zayn just holds out the bottle of medicine pathetically, like he feels out of place in his own flat, and Louis sits down. “You do it,” he says gently.

Zayn fumbles with the packaging and it takes him a minute to get the dropper to work correctly, taking in just enough, but not too much medicine. Louis holds Sara, her back to his front, and tries his best to keep her in place. “Hold her chin and then do little drops on her tongue,” Louis instructs.

With a nod, Zayn does exactly as Louis said, and it works. Sara drinks it all, albeit a bit reluctantly, and then Zayn can’t help himself: he reaches out for Sara. Louis lets her go easily, but slides over on the sofa so Zayn will sit beside him.

It isn’t until this moment that Louis has a chance to properly look around. The flat looks different - better - and he thinks ruefully that if this is how much Zayn’s flat as changed, who knows how much Zayn himself has changed. The walls are a fresh cream colour, and the sofa is new - there isn’t a cigarette hole to be found. There are baby blankets and spit rags and toys littered all over the place. It went from being the ultimate party flat to a proper baby-proofed flat, and Louis still isn’t quite sure how to process the information.

They sit in silence, nothing but the sound of a train faint in the distance to break the white noise in his flat. Louis doesn’t know if he should leave yet, doesn’t know if Zayn’s ready for him to, and instead he just glances over to see Sara finally sleeping in Zayn’s arms. “This is the first time she’s closed her eyes for more than a few minutes, all day,” Zayn whispers. He sounds pained, like just whispering a sentence has taken every last drop of energy.

“She’s going to sleep well, then,” Louis whispers back.

He looks down at Sara where her left foot has twitched. Her toes are brushing his thigh and she’s crumbled up in a cuddly little ball in Zayn’s arms. She’s sat on Zayn’s lap, curled up against her dad, a little fist in his shirt clinging tightly, and Louis’s chest does that thing again where it feels too small for his heart. She’s so precious; he hates that she took Zayn away from him, but he can’t blame Zayn, really. Sara deserves a hard-working dad, a dad who’s not out selling molly and spliffs to whatever desperate blokes like Louis are out there in the world.

Zayn’s working so hard to give her a good life. It’s admirable.

Something about that still bothers Louis, but he’d rather not think about what. Especially not when that thinking leads him to remember cars and kisses and Zayn’s stupidly gorgeous face. He has to look away, stare at a spot in the floor that’s got to be left over from the party days, the nights when Louis would spill liquor because he couldn’t walk a straight line. Those spots in the carpet are the only reminders of what they used to have. What Louis misses. What he still wants sometimes.

“Thank you, Louis,” Zayn whispers, resting his head on Louis’s shoulder, just for a moment.

Louis closes his eyes and tries not to think too much about this, about how his urge to reach over and put his hand on Zayn’s thigh, or worse, to put his whole arm around his shoulders, is so inappropriate. Zayn’s got Perrie, and he’s got Sara, and they’re a family even if they’re not dating anymore, and Louis no longer belongs.

“Don’t go on about it,” Louis whispers, but pulls Sara’s blanket back over her feet anyway, like for just a second or two he’s the other parent. Like maybe he can pretend even for a minute that this is the sort of thing he’s always wanted, even if he didn’t know it until just now.

Before he knows it, Zayn’s breathing has steadied and so has Sara’s, though she sounds a bit sniffly, and Louis doesn’t know what to do now. He doesn’t want to move because like Zayn said, this is the first time Sara’s slept well all day. And Zayn - well, Louis’s fairly sure he looked minutes from passing out anyway.

So Louis just leans back on the sofa and adjusts his arm, putting it around Zayn’s shoulders like he knows he shouldn’t, and he closes his eyes as well. It’s only for a second. He can’t get comfortable anyway, not when Zayn’s leaned into him and not when he knows that Sara’s in Zayn’s arms, but that she’d be safer elsewhere. He tries to shift his legs onto the sofa underneath him, but ends up jostling Zayn and Sara.

Only Sara wakes.

Her big blue eyes open and stare at him, but she thankfully doesn’t cry. “Hello, darling,” he coos, noticing that Zayn’s still dead asleep, but Sara’s ready for more attention. “Why don’t you come here and let your daddy have a nap?”

Louis gently pulls Sara out of Zayn’s arms, and all Zayn does is stir and lay down on the sofa with his head on the arm of it. Yeah, Louis thinks, it’s a good thing he grabbed her. Zayn wouldn’t have been able to notice if Sara had wriggled free, and that could have ended badly. He cradles Sara against his chest and brings her to the kitchen. She’s fussy again, and after enough rummaging he manages to find a bottle for her. She drinks a bit of it, but squirms a lot in his arms. All it takes is a fresh nappy and a cold damp rag around the back of her neck to get her doze off again.

He rocks her to sleep in the chair next to the sofa, and Zayn doesn’t stir the whole time. Once she’s fast asleep, he puts her down in her cot and wanders back out into the lounge. Zayn is _still_ asleep, and Louis wants to go home. He sighs and contemplates waking Zayn. On the one hand, he knows from the past that waking Zayn is difficult in the best of times. But on the other, Zayn should at least get into his bed where it’s more comfortable. And he should be somewhere where it’s easy to hear Sara in case she wakes again, because inevitably she will, being poorly and all.

So Louis kneels down next to the sofa and jostles Zayn without relent, getting rougher until finally Zayn’s batting his hand away and grumbling something unintelligible. “Zayn, wake up,” Louis presses.

Something about the sound of his voice startles Zayn awake, and he sits up suddenly, spooking Louis. Louis leans back just a bit, and he pulls his hands away from Zayn, up in the air like he’s under arrest. “Huh?” Zayn mumbles. “W-where’s Sara?”

“She’s fine,” Louis promises, his voice firm. “She’s in her cot. You both fell asleep. She woke for a while and I fed her, but then she went back to bed.” Zayn stares at Louis blankly, like he’s shocked Louis would do any of that for him - or that Sara’s doing well enough to do all of that without crying her head off. Louis notices the surprise and says, “She’s a lovely girl.” Zayn nods and rubs his eyes, the sleep caught in the corners. Louis watches him for a moment before he says, “I… I ought to be going, though. It’s a Friday night and all. Still got a few hours left, I can go make summat of it.”

“You could just stay here, y’know,” Zayn says sleepily.

Louis pauses, considers it for just a moment, but he knows he shouldn’t. He knows it’s a terrible idea. Zayn may be single now, but he’s a dad, he’s got no desire to date anyone, least of all someone as fucked up as Louis. With a heavy sigh, Louis shakes his head and says, “Nah, I’ll probably go out with Stan. The night is still young.”

Zayn looks wary and still rather terrified. “Please?” he begs. “Perrie’s out with her flatmates until tomorrow sometime - I just -,”

“You’d feel better if I stayed until she’s well?” Louis finishes.

Shoulders slumped in defeat, Zayn nods. Louis can see the fear in Zayn’s eyes and knows he’s probably incredibly unsure of himself. He hadn’t known how to take care of a healthy baby never mind one who was poorly, and it’s still all so new. Louis takes sympathy on him and nods. “Yeah, I guess I can stay.”

Zayn hugs Louis, he’s so relieved, and Louis melts into it again. He doesn’t know how to make himself pull away, doesn’t want to bother, because being in Zayn’s arms again feels nice. He’s got flashbacks of their night together in the car, of the phone call, of everything they’ve shared together, really, and before he can really think on it, Louis is leaning over toward Zayn. He presses a soft kiss to his temple and rubs his back as he says, “Let’s go to bed, then.”

That makes Zayn look up at Louis in confusion, and for a minute Louis doesn’t understand why. Except that’s when it hits him that he’s just kissed Zayn, and said they should go to bed, and - there’s a lot to draw from that. “Bed, yeah,” Zayn nods, still looking baffled.

Louis feels his cheeks getting hotter and he has to look down as he steps away from Zayn. “We’re sharing your bed,” Louis says, his voice terse and a little defensive. “I’m not sleeping on the sofa.”

“Yeah, my room,” Zayn replies awkwardly. “It’s -,”

“I know where it is,” Louis says, and he traipses down the hallway first, hoping to escape the awkwardness.

Except it doesn’t go away. Not as he pulls off his skinny jeans and climbs into bed in his tee shirt and pants. Not when Zayn wanders back into the bedroom from the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of trackies.

It only feels normal when Zayn rolls towards Louis in bed and Louis’s right there, ready to curl up with him. They don’t say a word, don’t question it, they just do what feels best. And if Louis ends up falling asleep with an arm around Zayn’s shoulders and Zayn sleeping with his head on his chest, then he’s all the better for it. He knows it doesn’t mean anything, not really, but in the meantime, he’s going to hold onto hope.

When Louis wakes up, the bed is empty, and he’s not surprised in the least. It’s not like Zayn would lie around for a cuddle - Louis honestly doesn’t think Zayn’s got feelings for him in return. He wouldn’t. Louis sighs and wipes the sleep from his eyes before sitting up and yawning. Louis takes his time putting on the jeans he’d shucked on the floor next to the bed, and then goes into the bathroom to piss and steal some toothpaste so he can brush his teeth with his finger. His hair’s a mess and probably isn’t fixable, so he doesn’t even try, just pushes it back with his fingers a few times.

Once he’s feeling presentable enough, Louis wanders back out to the lounge. Zayn’s sitting there with Sara on his lap, quiet and looking a little less rosy in the cheeks than she had been the night before. “How is she?” Louis asks softly.

“Better,” Zayn says. “Much better.”

“Good.”

Louis stuffs his hands in his pockets and knows he should say something else, something more, he just doesn’t know what. He glances to the kitchen and then back to Zayn. “D’you have tea?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Zayn nods. “It’s all there on the counter, in the corner.”

Louis turns on his heel and busies himself with that, trying not to stare too much as he watches Zayn with Sara, the way he smiles so brightly when he sees her, how gently he coaxes her into taking a little more medicine, the way he pulls out a book to read to her to calm her down again. It works, and it’s probably the sweetest thing Louis has ever seen.

And he hates the way it makes him feel. He hates that it’s got his heart pounding and his whole body tight with this feeling of _I want that_ when he looks at them. More than just wanting Zayn, Louis wants a family - he always has - but getting to that point is the hard part. Louis isn’t really sure how to do it, still, and he’s twenty-two now. Louis stands in the kitchen and sips his tea, watching Zayn and Sara over the counter, and the ache in his chest only gets worse.

Zayn looks up, still smiling from something adorable Sara did, except now the smile is aimed at Louis. “C’mere, Lou,” he says, smile never fading.

Louis doesn’t think twice, just walks to the sofa where Zayn’s sitting with Sara. They’re watching _Peppa Pig_ and she’s holding a teddy bear that’s nearly as big as she is, and Zayn doesn’t want Louis to feel left out. Louis sits down next to Zayn, smiles at Sara where she’s perched on his lap, and he can’t help but think how much things have changed.

Zayn, the guy who used to have parties in this very same flat nearly every night, the guy who got high with Louis and fucked around with Louis and made terrible decisions more often than not - he’s sitting on a sofa now, with his baby girl, watching children’s cartoons and looking happier than Louis has ever seen him before. It’s astonishing, how much people can change. Louis knows he’s changed too, that Zayn’s missed out on plenty with him, too, but he doesn’t want them to miss out on that anymore.

Eleanor was right - Louis just has to give it a shot.

“I’ve missed you, Zayn,” Louis confesses, looking down at the mug of tea he’s still clutching in his hands.

Zayn looks up, mildly surprised by the words, and says, “I’ve missed you too, Lou.”

“I want us to hang out again,” Louis continues. “I want us to be able to go out sometimes, even though you said you wouldn’t, because Perrie does, so why can’t you?” Zayn’s quiet; he doesn’t know what to say to that. “But - I want us to just _talk_ again. Like we used to. I’ve changed, too. I’m not going to be some terrible influence on Sara. I’m working now. I’m… I’m a bit less of an idiot, to be honest.”

Zayn is still quiet, and Louis thinks for a moment that this is it, this is the end. But then Zayn’s taking a breath and he says, “I know you’ve changed. Liam’s told me. He says for a while there you were bad, but now you’ve like, sorted things out. And that’s good. I’m glad. It’s -,” he hesitates. “It’s hard to get out of all that.”

“Yeah,” Louis nods, because it is. It’s hard to give up drinking and drugs when it’s become your lifestyle, something you don’t go a day without. “So can we?”

“Course we can, Lou,” Zayn says. “I - I’ve always kind of hoped you’d come around like this, really.”

Louis looks up at Zayn, who’s watching him in earnest. He looks more relaxed, and he puts on a smile, just because he knows it’ll draw a smile out of Louis in return. “So we’re good then?” Louis clarifies.

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, just as Sara reaches over for Louis, waving her teddy at him. “We’re good.”

Louis beams at Zayn, and then fixes his attention on Sara. She really is a sweet girl, after all.

\+ + +

It’s become a habit now, after spending their cozy winter holiday together, for Liam to go to Sophia’s once he’s done with class or his apprenticeship. She’s got a flat in town, something small and modest but something she’s quite proud of, having her own tiny flat in Colchester. His parents are used to him being away, to having to make meals just for the two of them, because Liam’s always visiting Sophia and spending the night. He practically lives with her, though he seems to be the only one who hasn’t noticed.

It’s a typical Thursday night when he gets there; it’s near the end of term so Sophia’s been busy studying all afternoon. He walks into her flat, a key already on his keyring from months ago, and after kicking off his boots, he walks into the lounge and gives her a kiss on the forehead. “Hey,” she says, sounding tired.

“Hi, love,” he replies.

“I didn’t realize it was so late,” she says, looking at the clock and then to Liam.

It looks like she hasn’t left the flat all day. She’s got her hair thrown back in a messy ponytail and she’s wearing cotton shorts with one of Liam’s big, warm Batman hoodies. The sleeves are too long and they put static in her hair where she’s pushing some flyaways behind her ears. She tucks her bare feet under her legs and wipes at her eyes, no makeup there to smudge. She looks like the most beautiful woman in the world, even like this, though Liam thinks that every time he looks at her. “It’s alright,” he replies. “How about I put in a frozen pizza?”

“You don’t have to,” Sophia protests.

Liam smiles and cuts her off with a kiss, and he lets it linger as he leans away, their noses brushing. “Just keep studying. It’s alright,” he whispers.

She nods, and in just seconds she’s turning back to her homework and humming to herself as she works out something Liam doesn’t understand. He puts in the pizza and sets the timer, and then dashes down the hallway to take a quick shower - he’s great at those - and comes out just in time to hear the oven’s timer going off. Sophia moves to get it, but Liam beats her there. Sophia grabs a few cans of drink instead and brings them to the coffee table along with a hot pad. Liam carries over the pizza and they curl up on the fluffy beige sofa together, Sophia cradled against Liam’s side.

He’s become a pro at eating one-handed, because sometimes meals are the only time they have to cuddle up together, either because Sophia’s got more studying to do or Liam’s got to go to bed early because he’s got an early building assignment the next day. They talk about school, and they talk about work, and then it’s quiet as they sip at their cans, the pizza gone.

“Hey Liam?”

“Yeah?”

Liam looks down at Sophia where she’s got her knees tucked into his hoodie, her hands fumbling nervously in the sleeves where they’re hidden. “Have you ever thought about the future?” she asks.

“Sometimes, I guess,” he replies lamely.

“I mean, like - you practically live here anyway,” Sophia begins. “You could just move in, if you wanted.”

Liam’s eyes go wide as saucers and he turns to look at Sophia where she’s gazing nervously over her shoulder. “You - that’d be alright?” he asks.

“Of course!” she says, giggling a little at the fact that he hadn’t already caught on to that idea.

He’s grinning as he says, “I’d love that.” The thought of seeing Sophia more every day, of getting to wake up next to her and shower her with affection whenever they’re together -- it’s tempting. He can’t possibly imagine saying no.

“Anytime you want,” she tells him. “You pretty much have done already, we’d just make it official. Though… people would start asking us when we’re going to get engaged.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

His heart pounds hard in his chest, the idea of Sophia saying _yes, yes it would be a bad thing_ too much for him to consider. Liam’s thought about it a few times, considered asking Sophia to marry him, but he doesn’t know the timeline on these things. Both of his parents have started getting weepy whenever he brings up the subject of moving out, never mind the topic of marriage. Their youngest child is getting ready to become his own person, independent of their help, and they’re struggling to come to terms with that.

“No, it wouldn’t,” Sophia agrees. “I mean… if that’s what you’d be okay with?”

“Soph,” Liam says softly. “I see myself spending the rest of my life with you. I am definitely okay with people assuming it before we make it official.”

“But you see it one day? Us getting married?” she asks hopefully.

Liam just smiles at her and presses a gentle kiss to her lips. He cups her cheek in his hand and wraps his other arm around her, bringing her up onto his lap. “I’d be so lucky if we did,” he smiles. “You’re amazing, Soph, and I love you a lot.”

He feels her relax in his arms, the way her body slumps against his and her mouth curves into a smile as their faces linger close together. “I love you too,” she whispers as she reaches up, her hands cupping his scruffy cheeks. “I love you so, so much.”

\+ + + 

 

The end of term in June is always something to celebrate, but it’s an even bigger occasion when someone’s graduating. Niall’s already told their roommates Laura and Eoghan that the weekend after Bressie graduates is going to be crazy, and they’re using their house for it, and that they’d better either be prepared to drink their fill, or to find somewhere else to go. Naturally, they agreed to stick around.

Niall hasn’t had much time away from work and courses to plan the party, but there’s not much that needs planning. He’s stocked up on all the best foods and more than enough alcohol, and really, what more could a party hosted by Irishmen need? Bressie knows it’s happening, but doesn’t know the scale, doesn’t know what Niall’s called in for this get-together. Popstar Harry is coming back, fresh off a European tour, and Harry and Niall both have invited Nick to come. Nick’s said he’s bringing someone, but he sounded unsure, so Niall doesn’t know what’s happening there. Liam and Sophia are of course going to be there, and Eleanor’s back in town, so she’s coming as well. Louis will be there, because he’s always where the party and alcohol are, and rumor has it he’s got Zayn coming with him.

Not to mention the other friends Niall’s made at uni in his course, ones who are older than him so they’re in Bressie’s year, or ones his age who study with him and have met Bressie anyway. The party is going to be _huge_. They’ll probably annoy the whole street, but Niall doesn’t care. He’s going to celebrate Bressie’s accomplishment even if it kills him - and it very well might.

When the night rolls around, Niall puts on some tight black pants and a black shirt, patterned with little patches of thin, see-through fabric. He’d gotten it last time Harry came back to London, let him buy it for him since it was rather expensive. But it fits Harry’s eclectic tastes and still looks inherently _Niall_ , so it’s good. He feels really attractive in it, and he knows that Bressie’s going to love it.

When Bressie spots him once he’s changed, Niall grins. Bressie’s jaw drops and he stares for a minute before Niall walks up and waves his hand in front of his face. “Stop staring,” he says, laughing, a slight pink tint on his cheeks.

Bressie just grins and reaches out for Niall’s hips. “You look great,” Bressie smiles. “This shirt is…”

“You’re not allowed to rip it off me, alright?” Niall says, looking mischievous. He can hear people filing in downstairs, being let in by Eoghan, but he wants just a few more seconds alone upstairs with Bressie. “It’s expensive and I want to be able to get this reaction out of you again.”

Bressie wrings a hand tight in the back of the shirt as he pulls Niall close to him, and it looks like he’s trying to physically restrain himself from doing just that. “Alright, alright,” Bressie concedes. “But it _will_ be coming off later tonight, you big tease.”

“Good,” Niall grins. “That’s what I was hoping for.”

Bressie leans in for a kiss and Niall smiles through the whole thing, breathless and so, so happy. The kiss lingers, and Bressie whispers against Niall’s lips, “Thank you for tonight.”

“Anytime,” Niall says. He drops his hands to Bressie’s biceps and looks up at him with a big smile on his face. “Let’s go celebrate, big guy.”

They wander downstairs just in time to see Harry walking in looking as hipster-ish as ever, his shirt only buttoned to halfway up his chest, a huge butterfly tattoo peeking out. “Harry!” Niall cheers, pulling him into a hug.

Harry grins, that same smile he’s had his whole life, the one that makes him look like a little awkward teenager all over again. It makes him feel less famous, more like he hasn’t changed a bit. Niall likes that. It feels weird to him that Harry’s on the road performing, that he’s got millions of followers on Twitter now and that people know who he is, by extension. Louis shouts across the room at Harry to go get a drink, and Zayn’s serving them up like a proper bartender in the kitchen.

For the first time in ages, Niall’s surrounded by all of his friends again. He’s so proud of his boyfriend that he could burst, and on top of it all, it feels like nobody ever left, like they’ve all been around and okay since he first got to London for uni.

Harry and Niall both walk into the kitchen where Zayn’s mixing up drinks and Niall takes a Jack and Coke while Harry opts for a gin and tonic. “Someone’s gotten posh,” Louis teases.

Harry just rolls his eyes and sips at his drink, feeling more at home now that he’s here. Being on the road gets lonely, and he’s glad he could find the time to come to this party. Nobody treats him like he’s famous - he’s just _Harry_ and it’s wonderful.

All that comfort disappears, though when Nick walks through the door. He hasn’t got a guest with him, like Niall said he might, and Harry honestly hasn’t spoken to Nick since their late-night phone call last winter. He’s just watched Nick become even happier and more successful through Twitter and Instagram, jealousy bubbling inside of him at the thought that Nick’s sharing that success with someone other than him. “Heya, Nick,” Niall greets him with a smile.

Nick smiles and nods to Niall, and then looks around at the other lads. “Nick,” Harry says, sounding a bit out of breath. “Hi.”

“Harry,” Nick nods.

He feels out of place in this group of people, but he’d wanted to support Niall and his boyfriend and to see everyone. Years of memories come flooding back to Nick and he doesn’t know exactly what to say, where to start.

“Grimshaw.”

Louis’s voice is cold, smacks Nick out of his thoughts and back into reality, and his stomach sinks. He remembers his promise to Harry.

“Louis,” Nick says, facing him properly. He leans against the counter and tries to ignore the venomous glare being aimed directly at him. He sighs and amends, “Let’s have a talk, Tommo. Come with me.”

Louis opens his mouth to protest as Nick puts an arm around Louis’s shoulder, but words don’t happen. Louis glares at each and every one of them for not interfering, and then lets himself be led out of the kitchen and upstairs by Nick. Nick lets go once they reach the staircase and he’s sure that Louis won’t be running away from him anytime soon. He figures he’s got ten minutes, fifteen at the most, to really chat with Louis and sort this out for good. They find a bedroom - Laura’s, if the decor is anything to judge from - and he closes the door behind them. “What do you want?” Louis snaps.

Nick sighs. He’s known for ages that this wouldn’t be easy. If it was, then Louis wouldn’t be the boy he thought he’d fallen in love with, the spunky, courageous young man who got into something he didn’t understand, didn’t fully comprehend, all for Nick. Nick had done so much for Louis, but trashed it all, and he knows this. Voicing it, however, is much harder.

“I want to talk. I want us to stop this hostility because it’s been years and our friends don’t deserve having to put up with it,” Nick says. Louis sits on the bed and narrows his eyes at Nick, but doesn’t cut him off. Nick sits down on the desk chair, choosing to give Louis his space.

“Louis… I had no idea that I was so many firsts for you,” Nick says. “And I know that’s no excuse. It shouldn’t matter. But the way I ended things was shit and I knew you’d be hurt, but I didn’t realize how hurt, and I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry.”

Louis avoids Nick’s eyes and pulls his legs up so they’re crossed underneath him where he’s perched on the end of the bed. He sighs. but keeps his mouth shut.

“I’m not asking for you back,” Nick says, but then blanches. “I just mean that like…”

“I know what you mean,” Louis interrupts. He looks up at Nick and still has that steeled expression, his walls clearly up, but he’s not looking quite as venomous as he was earlier, which Nick marks as progress. “I don’t want you like that anymore, either. But what you did was a really dick move.”

Nick nods. “I know,” he agrees. “It was. And then dating Harry - I realize how bad that looked. I do.”

Louis is quiet, and his gaze shifts from Nick, to the floor, and then back up at Nick before he scoffs and says, “I actually thought I loved you.”

That puts a big frown on Nick’s face. “You can love someone and then fall out of love,” Nick says. “Or it can become a different kind of love.”

“No, I mean _thought_. As in, _past tense_ ,” Louis says flatly. “There’s no doubt about that.”

“Well it’s not the same for me,” Nick snaps back. He looks at Louis, who’s staring at him incredulously. Nick sighs and says, “I do still care about you, alright? I always have. You’re unlike anyone else I’ve ever dated, Louis, and even though I’ve got a shit way of showing it, I’ve always wanted you to be happy, in the end.”

Louis is stunned, unsure of what to say to that. He’d always thought that their animosity and hatred was mutual, that treating Nick like shit after they broke up meant that Nick disliked him as much as he disliked Nick, but it’s not true. Apparently, Nick still cares about him, even after Louis put him through the ringer. He’s not quite sure how to respond.

“Look - I don’t expect us to become the best of friends,” Nick says. “I was unfair to you and I hurt you, and I’m very sorry about that. But for the sake of our friends, I’d like to put the fighting behind us. We can be awkward acquaintances or something. I don’t care. I just don’t want to fight anymore. It’s exhausting and quite frankly, it got old years ago.”

Louis thinks it’s not such an unreasonable request, all things considered. This hatred he’s been harboring for Nick has gone on for years, has ruined countless parties and years worth of memories, but something is holding Louis back. He picks at a hole in his jeans and doesn’t answer Nick at first, contemplating how to answer. What Nick did to Louis shook him more than hardly anything else in his life. He hadn’t felt like he’d changed at all, but yet Nick went from wanting him to not wanting him - something about Louis was too tiring to hang on to, or at least that’s how he’s felt. Louis knows it’s hard for people to like him sometimes, that he’s one of those people that others either adore or despise, but Nick had started out as one and ended as the other and without any reasoning as to why, it has left Louis feeling rather fucked up.

“What did I do that was so wrong?” Louis asks softly, his voice more timid than Nick’s ever heard it, even since back when he knew Louis before he got so loud and boisterous, when he was the bashful, virgin next door. “I just need to know what happened, Nick. It wasn’t my age, you dating Harry has proved that.”

Nick swallows hard. Louis deserves an explanation, and Nick so badly wants to give it. “No matter what I say, it’s going to sound like bullshit,” Nick warns.

“That could apply to literally every word that comes out of your mouth,” Louis says.

Nick smiles, even if he thinks he shouldn’t. Louis tries to fight a smile as well, Nick can tell just by the twitch at the corners of Louis’s mouth. “Honestly?” Nick asks. 

Louis nods. He’s watching Nick so seriously, but without any sort of judgment on his face. Nick doesn’t know how to take that, what it means to know that Louis is being so calm and non-judgmental all of a sudden. It feels an awful lot like progress. 

“We were never going to be right for each other in the end. You were so young… you and I wanted different things out of a relationship. We had different expectations from it. I certainly can’t blame you for wanting to shag all the time, because shagging’s great and you were ace at it, it’s just - I wanted to be a bit more settled down. Dinner and wine and cuddles rather than a pub and a good fuck. I wanted to go to bed earlier so I could get up and work, and you… you were so lucky, you didn’t have a care in the world. If we’d been in another time, another place, it might’ve lasted longer, but I think you and I both know that we were never endgame.”

Louis wants to say something snarky, feels it on the tip of his tongue, but Nick’s being totally honest with him and it seems unfair to mock that. Louis has only made him wait four years to be able to give a proper explanation - he feels he owes it to Nick to be civil, just this once. “I didn’t know what I was doing,” Louis says. “I’d never dated a guy before, and I didn’t have any idea if it was supposed to be different. I didn’t know my role.”

“You didn’t have a _role_ ,” Nick reassures him. “You just had to be you.”

“And I _was_ ,” Louis says. “But that wasn’t good enough.”

Nick sighs. “It…” Nick stammers. He doesn’t know how to phrase it without upsetting Louis. “There’s nothing wrong with who you are or the things you want. If that’s the type of relationship you want, then that’s the sort of person I want you to find. Someone who can give you that. But that person wasn’t me, and we would have found that out no matter what.”

Louis looks conflicted and avoids Nick’s eyes. He’s quiet, trapped in his head, and Nick feels unsettled from it - Louis is never quiet. When Louis finally speaks again, it’s words that Nick doesn’t know what to do with. “Are you going to get back together with Harry?”

“It’s not that simple,” Nick replies. “I honestly don’t know. Harry’s got a life of his own now, and I’m not going to hold him back. But if one day the timing is right, maybe we’ll work out.”

“So he’s the one you feel like is your - what word did you use? Your endgame?”

Louis is watching Nick with big, curious eyes, and it feels like the strangest thing in the world because Louis hasn’t cared about Nick or anything Nick does in this sort of way since they were together. It’s unsettling but at the same time it’s oddly sweet. “I feel like he could be, yeah. If the timing’s right,” Nick confesses. He doesn’t want to have to tiptoe around Louis about this anymore. He wants it to be okay. “What about you?” he asks. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Sort of,” Louis confesses. “It’s complicated. Zayn’s, well - he’s got a kid, which makes it difficult I guess. But yeah… we’re just seeing what happens.”

Nick smiles, a genuine, happy smile because he’d hoped Louis would find someone someday to make him happy and give him what Nick never could. “That sounds lovely,” Nick says. “You’ve always been great with children.”

“Yeah,” Louis nods. “It’s… we’ve not got anything serious, but I think it’s okay anyway.”

“I’m happy for you,” Nick says. “Really.”

Their eyes lock and it’s like the feelings of animosity are gone. Nothing will ever be the same as it once was between them, but if they’re not at each other’s throats anymore, it’s progress. Nervously, Nick asks, “Are we alright, Lou? Friends?”

Louis gives Nick a long, narrow-eyed study, like he’s trying to decide based on appearance alone whether or not it’s worth it, but it’s all just a big joke. He laughs, in the end, and says, “I guess.” He pauses a beat and then says, “Thanks, by the way. I know it was you who took me home after I fought with Stan that night.”

“It’s no problem, really,” Nick insists, to be polite. He’d been annoyed at the time, having to tote Louis around like that, but now it doesn’t seem like such a big deal. Not now that Louis is getting his shit together rather than making nights like that a habit.

Louis looks earnestly at Nick and says, “I owe you for that cab ride, at the very least.”

“Louis, really. Don’t worry about it, alright?” Nick says softly. He tilts his head to the side and studies Louis. Guilt is a new look on him, and Nick doesn’t like it, even if it means Louis has smartened up a little. “I mean it. You got your shit together in the end and that’s what matters, yeah?”

Nick watches as Louis’s eyes narrow, like he’s debating whether or not to argue, but in the end he just sighs and nods. “Well… thanks. Again,” Louis says awkwardly. If he’s not able to repay Nick, he doesn’t really know what to do.

“Seriously, just forget about it, alright?” Nick says. “Water under the bridge. We’re both here and alright so we’re good.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Nick smiles at Louis, who starts smiling in spite of himself. Finally, when Nick feels about like his legs are going to fall asleep from his awkward half-cross-legged position on the wooden chair, Louis asks eagerly, “Can I go drink now?” He stands up without waiting for an answer.

“You’re a menace,” Nick says as Louis jumps eagerly off the bed.

Louis races out the door and down the stairs before Nick can so much as pull himself up off the chair. He groans, feeling ridiculously old all of a sudden. When Nick gets downstairs, he’s pleased to see Louis in a good mood, scrunched on the sofa between Eleanor and Zayn. “Took you long enough, old man,” Louis mocks.

Harry looks alarmed, but Nick just grins at Louis, who grins back, and eventually Harry catches on to the fact that they’ve sorted things out, and that everything will be okay. Nick doesn’t anticipate hanging out with Louis one-on-one anytime soon, but they’re amicable, which is all Harry wanted, really.

Niall walks in with a plastic tray full of shot glasses and shouts above the noise to get everyone’s attention. “Everyone, gather up!” he shouts. “We’re all taking a shot in celebration of Bressie! Finally a uni grad!” The whole group cheers, Niall loudest of all. Bressie’s at his side looking bashful but pleased. Niall holds out the tray to everyone, and he’s only satisfied once there’s a shot glass in every hand. “To Bressie!”

The group echoes, and they tip back the shots. Liam winces at the burn, smiles at Sophia who’s sipping on hers instead. “I’m so awful at shots,” she says, laughing.

“You’re adorable,” he tells her, scooping her closer into his side and kissing her forehead as she drinks more, pulling a face.

“I’ll finish it for you,” he offers.

Sophia smiles. “I know you would,” she says. With just a little bit to go, she tips it back and drinks the rest of the whiskey. “We’re next, you realize.”

“I know,” Liam says, looking around. His heart races as he thinks about how their future is fast approaching. Their past conversation rings in his ears and he knows deep down to his core that Sophia’s the one. He just has to find the right time to do it. Most importantly, he’s got to find a ring.

Eleanor and Louis are talking loudly about something on the couch next to the chair where Liam and Sophia are perched, and Liam decides to interrupt. “Tommo!” he shouts. “Let the ladies talk! I need you in the kitchen!”

“Yeah, you never could mix yourself a drink,” Louis teases as he gets up, letting Eleanor and Sophia have at it.

Louis’s hand lingers in Zayn’s as he stands up, but Zayn just nods, urging Louis to go with Liam into the kitchen. Liam walks right through though, and out onto the back porch. Louis laughs and says, “You missed the room you were going for.”

Liam sits down on the steps and reaches into the front breast pocket of his plaid shirt. He pulls out a lighter and some cigarettes, putting one between his lips before offering the pack to Louis. Louis takes one and eyes Liam curiously. Liam lights his cigarette, taking a few fumbles before he gets it right, and then he passes the lighter off to Louis. “What’s going on with you?” Louis asks, the cigarette bouncing where he’s holding it between his lips, even as he speaks.

Liam waits until he’s put the lighter and cigarettes back into his pocket before he says, “I wanted to tell you something. Haven’t told anyone else yet. I wanted it to be you, first.”

A warmth spreads through Louis, because after all that time he’d felt like he’d drifted away from his friends, but here he is, being included like nothing had ever gone wrong. Maybe Louis really _was_ imagining that, after all. He pulls in a lungful of smoke and exhales before he smiles at Liam mischievously. “Oh my _god_ is Sophia pregnant!?” he asks.

“What!?” Liam asks, appalled. “No!” Louis laughs, loud and boisterous, and Liam can’t help but laugh a little, too. He hadn’t exactly set it up the right away. “No, she’s not. We… no, we’re safe.”

“Oh my god, Payno lost his virginity. Finally!” Louis cheers. “When? Tell me everything!”

“I’m not telling you everything because when you told me everything about you and Nick I thought I was going to be sick, it made me so nervous,” Liam replies. His speech is just a bit slurred thanks to the shot and the mixed drink he’d been sipping all evening since arriving. “No, you don’t get any details. Just that it wasn’t that long ago, because the night I’d _planned_ it, we had to go pick you up from that bus stop when you got lost.”

Louis’s smile fades at that, and he eyes Liam for a moment before he pulls another drag from his cigarette. The smoke burns his lungs and he feels short of breath when he says, “I’m sorry about that, Liam. Really.”

“I know you are,” Liam nods. “And I know you _felt_ sorry all day because molly kicks your arse. You know that. But you did it anyway.”

“I didn’t get out of bed for days,” Louis says.

Liam looks smug. “That’s how I know you’re sorry. It’s all good now, mate. No worries.”

Louis elbows Liam and says, “You’re so loyal it sickens me, Payno.”

With a dip of his head, Liam chuckles and says, “Someone’s got to do it, and I’d rather it be me than anyone else.”

His whole life, Liam never thought he’d make a best friend, not someone like Louis. He’d been the loner for so long until Louis came along. Louis, the boy who could have been friends with anyone he wanted. Louis, the boy who was loud and annoying except around Liam. He was exactly the type of friend Liam had always needed, the type to bring him out of his shell, to push him to try new things and expand outside of this tiny little protective world he’d built for himself. Liam knows he’d be nowhere without Louis.

“So what’s this news?” Louis asks, pulling Liam from his thoughts.

Liam grins before the words even leave his mouth. “Sophia and I were talking the other night. We were just sitting around in her flat and we started talking about the future,” Liam says. “Marriage came up, and… I want to propose to her.” He looks at Louis nervously, like maybe Louis will say it’s a bad idea. “I want to marry her and spend the rest of my life with her, Lou. I’m in love with her.”

Once upon a time Louis would have been upset with this news, would have gotten jealous that Liam’s got something Louis hasn’t, but now - he can’t bring himself to do that, to think like that. This is Liam. Dorky Liam who didn’t have any friends before Louis. Shy, nervous Liam who once upon a time got sick just _thinking_ about talking to a girl. That Liam morphed into this man in front of Louis who is ready to commit to someone - _Sophia_ , their friend since they were younger - and Louis would be daft if he made Liam feel like shit about that.

Instead, he lets out a whoop of joy and hugs Liam close, grinning into his shoulder as he hugs him. “Yes!” Louis cries. “Liam, that’s - that’s fucking _brilliant_! Have you done it yet?”

“No, not yet,” Liam says, beaming because he’s so glad Louis is taking it so well. “I dunno what sort of ring to get her. I was sort of hoping you’d help me with that, actually.”

“Of course I will Liam, Jesus,” Louis chides. “Did you even have to ask?”

Louis tosses the butt of his cigarette onto the sidewalk and stamps it out with his dirty Vans. He faces Liam properly and says, “Let’s go into the kitchen. You and I have got to celebrate with a shot.”

“Okay,” Liam says, sounding unsure. They stand up from the porch steps and brush off their jeans, little flakes of leaves and mud falling to the wooden planks of the porch below them. “But like… no telling. Okay? This stays between you and me.”

“Honestly, Liam,” Louis says as he pushes Louis through the doors. “It’s like you think I can’t keep a secret or summat.”

“Well - ,” Liam begins, smirking.

“Shut it,” Louis interrupts. “This is one secret I _will_ keep. Promise.” He looks earnest and warm and more like the old Louis that Liam knew, not the wreck he saw him become.

Liam can’t wipe the grin off his face though, and he happily takes a shot of terribly cheap whiskey with Louis before they return to the lounge where everyone still seems to be gathered. Bressie and Eoghan are moving furniture around and a couple of mates from Bressie’s course are trying to drunkenly manoeuvre a ping pong table out of the basement, and the whole place is full of noise. Niall’s putting on new music and filling American style red plastic cups with something, Nick can’t tell what. “I call Liam! Who’s going to challenge me and Liam?” Niall shouts above the noise.

“Me!” Bressie shouts, drunk and loud and so happy he can’t wipe the grin from his face.

“And me!” Eoghan shouts, leaping up onto the sofa to stand above everyone else.

Eleanor slinks up to Louis and puts her arm through his. “That leaves us to have a little chat,” she smiles.

She’s just a little drunk, Louis decides. Drunk enough to be cuddly in front of all their friends, and drunk enough to slur her words, but not too drunk that she’ll say something she shouldn’t. Louis is just happy to see her letting loose; she works really hard in uni and he knows it. She deserves some time to relax. “Yeah, when you guys get back, me and Soph will challenge you two to a game of beer pong,” Harry says where he’s surrounded by Sophia, Laura, and a few girls Louis has never met.

“I’m holding you to that, Harry Styles!” Louis says, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Eleanor and Louis wander drunkenly down the hallway, into a different room this time, one that looks much more like Bressie’s. It’s got a huge bed in it, with plenty of rugby and football posters on the walls, and just enough of Niall’s things lying about to totally give away the fact that the two of them are a couple. Louis throws himself onto the bed, his drink sloshing about just a little. Eleanor grabs it and sets it aside before she climbs up the bed and sits cross legged next to Louis. She pokes his tummy and says, “So, you and Zayn, huh?”

Louis just grins, his eyes closed as a wave of drowsiness washes over him, courtesy of the alcohol he’s consumed so far that evening. Eleanor looks cute like this, he notices, the way her socks are sort of falling off her feet, and her hair is a crumpled mess, probably from the way she was curled up on the recliner with Sophia, and her makeup looks just a little smudged like she was sweating it off to the dance music earlier. She looks like she’s letting go and having fun; Louis is satisfied. “Yeah,” he replies dreamily. “Me and Zayn. Cutest fucking couple ever, yeah?”

“So you’re a couple?” she asks.

Louis shrugs. “I mean, it feels an awful lot like it,” he confesses. “It’s complicated, because of Sara, but like, we hang out and we kiss and we take care of his daughter together so it’s _something_ , yeah?”

Eleanor grins. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but - ,”

“Don’t you dare - ,”

“I told you so.”

She grins at Louis like the cat that got the canary, and he tries his hardest to glare at her. However, Louis quickly begins to fail because Eleanor’s got a clump of hair sticking straight up from her head, and besides, he’s actually rather proud of the fact that he’s found someone to settle down with. Zayn’s great - fucking _amazing_ at snogging - and they really make each other happy. It was never this easy with Nick, and Louis likes that being with Zayn is so easy. It feels more like Zayn is _the one_ , though he’d never get down on his knees and profess that like Liam’s going to. No amount of alcohol will likely make Louis into _that_ kind of guy.

“What about you? Have you found anyone?”

He gazes up at her, looking eager for some sort of juicy gossip. She pulls the sleeves of her plain black shirt over her hands and shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Sort of? I dunno. We’ve just been hanging out more,” she says.

“Who!?” Louis asks excitedly. He even sits up in excitement, just for her. A hand flies to his head and he squishes his eyes shut, dizzy already. Eleanor laughs and holds his shoulder to steady him.

“Easy there,” she warns him. “His name is Max. He’s sweet.”

Louis reaches over for his drink and takes another gulp, but then sets it aside to give Eleanor his full attention. “I’m really happy for you, you know,” he says. He holds her hand in his, thumb rubbing the back of it, and says, “Part of me is bummed we didn’t work out, though.”

Eleanor smiles and says, “The alcohol is making you especially honest tonight.”

“El, I mean it,” he whines.

She nods and tucks some flyaways behind her ear. “I know. Part of me feels the same way. But it would have gotten complicated, anyway, with the distance and all.” They’re quiet for a minute, and then she asks, “Did Briana ever call you?”

“Briana?”

“Yeah,” Eleanor nods. “The girl you hooked up with when you came to visit?”

“Oh her!” Louis says, remembering her suddenly. He looks confused as he asks, “Why was she going to call me? I never heard from her.”

Eleanor smiles sweetly and can’t help but laugh a bit as she says, “You’ve really got to be more careful.”

Louis sits up, alarmed, and asks, “What are you on about?”

Eleanor lays down on the bed next to Louis, trying to get him to just relax and stop thinking it’s such a big deal. “I mean at parties. You should be more careful, so poor girls like Briana don’t worry that they might be pregnant.” Louis sputters but Eleanor cuts him off before he can say anything. “She’s not, so it’s fine, just - she came to me because she saw us together and I had to tell her that you weren’t from Manny but that you’d help her if she needed it.”

“I would have.”

“I know,” Eleanor nods. “But she wasn’t, so you’re fine. But… if she had been, I know you would have been a really great dad,” Eleanor reassures him.

“I know,” Louis nods. “It’s just… timing, that’s all.”

Eleanor smiles fondly and says, “You don’t realize it, but you’re sort of a dad already. With Zayn.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “It’s not the same.”

“You help take care of her. That’s all that matters,” Eleanor reminds him. “It’s all she’s going to remember.”

He stares at her for a minute, and then nods, because deep down he knows it’s true. Whether he wants to admit it or not, he’s like another parent to her. He’s at Zayn’s all the time now, because he feels a bit ridiculous being as old as he is and still living with his mum, but also because he never wants to leave Zayn’s company. They share his bed, they do the shopping, they make food for each other… they’ve gone and started settling down together without ever even talking about it.

Louis opens his mouth to argue, but they’re cut off by Harry bursting in through the door. “Our turn for beer pong!” he shouts. He’s clumsy and wobbly but so, so happy, and with a huge dimpled grin on his face he says, “Winner faces Niall and Liam for the big win. But we’re going to kiss - erm, _kick_ \- your arses!”

Eleanor and Louis both burst out laughing whilst Sophia tries to drag Harry out of the doorway and back down the hall toward the ping pong table. Harry’s drunker than Louis has ever seen him, and he _loves_ it. The party is going better than he could have ever hoped - no fighting or drama, just a lot of catching up with old friends - and he’s especially looking forward to watching Harry and Sophia lose to him and Eleanor in beer pong.

Niall tries to explain the rules to them, but Louis isn’t paying attention, and he doesn’t end up following the rules throughout most of the game anyway, because that’s just how Louis plays games. The only time he accepts Niall’s rules is when he has to drink because, well, alcohol. In the end, nobody is surprised to see that Louis and Eleanor beat Harry and Sophia by eight whole cups. Harry missed every single shot he took. “It’s alright, Harry,” Sophia reassures him, though she looks a bit sore to have lost. She was really holding up her own, what with Harry’s terrible coordination.

Nick helps usher Harry to the sofa where he’s got water waiting for him, though he tries his best to tell Harry that it’s actually water-flavored vodka. Harry’s so drunk, he believes it. “Mmm, more alcohol,” Harry grins as he drinks it. Everyone around him laughs.

Sophia pokes one of his dimples and Harry snorts and nearly chokes on his water. “What’d you do that for!?” Harry whines.

Nick’s laughing hysterically, because Harry’s wiping at his face and trying to pretend that water didn’t just come out of his nose, and it’s a whole lot of laughter. “Would you lot shut up!?” Louis shouts. “I’m trying to concentrate over here!”

He throws a ping pong ball, but misses. Eleanor does the same. Liam gets a shot but Niall misses, and Louis happily takes a drink. “You know we’re not supposed to _want_ to drink, right?” Eleanor tells him. “Like, it just makes us worse at this than we would be normally?”

Louis just shrugs. He likes his alcohol too much to worry. Besides, he fancies himself as rather coordinated and athletic. When Liam makes a shot the next time around, too, Louis wanders to the couch and drags Sophia to his and Eleanor’s side of the table. “I will literally pay you to unbutton the top couple of buttons on your shirt and bend over next time Liam’s throwing the ball. Distract him. Please,” Louis bribes her.

Sophia raises her eyebrows and Eleanor shakes her head. “Oi!” Liam calls. “I can hear you!”

“I can hear you too,” Louis replies smartly. “What’s your point?”

“It won’t work,” Liam warns.

Except Sophia really does do it, mostly just because she’s curious to see if it’ll distract Liam, but also because she’s had a few drinks and what harm is a little cleavage anyway? It ends up working spectacularly well and Louis plants a grateful kiss on her cheek when he realizes. “Alright then,” Liam says, his cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment, because he’d tried _so hard_ not to get distracted. “Zayn! Come here!”

Louis just laughs as Zayn walks up to where Niall and Liam are gathered on the opposite side of the ping pong table. “He hasn’t got tits, Liam,” Louis says. “Dunno if you’ve noticed. But like… you can’t distract me with him the way Sophia distracts you.”

But Zayn’s got a smirk on his face like he knows what he’s going to do, and in one quick move he proves that he doesn’t have to have tits to distract Louis. All he’s got to do instead is lick his lips nice and slow, all while staring at Louis and sliding his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, and Louis misses the table altogether, the ball flying off to the side, hitting Bressie in the forehead.

Everyone bursts out laughing and Louis looks flustered, but quickly recovers by vehemently protesting that it wasn’t his fault, the ball was just too wet.

After that, the game turns dirty and it evolves into Eleanor versus Niall with Sophia distracting Liam and Zayn distracting Louis.

Liam and Niall win.

“Louis!” Eleanor says when they lose, slapping Louis on the shoulder. “Your dick cost us this game!”

Louis looks affronted, but doesn’t protest, because he knows she’s right.

Zayn slinks in and puts an arm around Louis’s waist as he stands behind him. “You’re a horrible person,” Louis pouts to Zayn, his words slurring.

With a chuckle, Zayn leans in to kiss Louis just below his ear. “Yeah,” he whispers, before doing it again, this time with a hand sliding up underneath Louis’s shirt. “But you love me anyway.” The gesture makes Louis’s eyes flutter shut and his breath catch, and he doesn’t think twice about reaching down for Zayn’s hand, disconnecting their bodies only so that he can drag Zayn up the stairs and into a bedroom, the third different one in as many visits, though it’s not as if he’s actually paying attention. He’s far too busy trying to get his hands on Zayn and have Zayn put his hands all over him in return, their mouths finding each other in the distance.

“Well… who’s shocked they ditched out first?” Eleanor laughs. “Not me.”

“Not me.”

“Not me.”

Nobody is, really, and it’s probably just as well. Louis deserves to be happy; they’ve all seen him reach his lowest over the past couple of years, and they’re all happy he’s started moving on and growing up. All of them have, it’s just that Louis fought it more than anyone else, and a few of them were worried that Louis would never get to this point at all.

It’s clear that after the tournament, the party is starting to die out. Eleanor calls for a cab to take her, Sophia, and Liam back home; Eleanor on the way to Sophia’s flat, where Liam will inevitably be sleeping, among other activities. Shortly after Zayn and Louis steal Niall’s room, Niall and Bressie sneak away into Bressie’s room. Laura and Eoghan are going to stay up a while longer, and most of the other partygoers have already left or will be leaving soon.

From where he stands on one side of Bressie’s room, Niall is grinning mischievously at Bressie, his fingers lingering on the buttons of his spotted see-through shirt. “God you look good in that,” Bressie says as he walks towards him, reaching out for Niall’s hips.

Niall smirks and says, “I mean… I don’t _have_ to take it off.” His heart is pounding wildly in his chest. He doesn’t know what it is about this damn shirt, but if Bressie likes it, Niall doesn’t need to take it off. Not if Bressie is going to keep looking at him with that dark, lustful gaze that sends shivers down his spine, makes him feel sexy and wanted in a way he’s never felt before. “And maybe I don’t _want_ to take it off,” he adds. Niall doesn’t think too much about it, though the words _clothes kink_ echo in his head after Harry brought it up after that party last year, because Bressie is looking at him like he’s ready to devour him and Niall wants that more than he’s wanted anything before in his life.

They’ve never done this, never talked about it really, but Niall’s ready for it. He wants Bressie in him like yesterday, and Bressie gets the hint when Niall stops unbuttoning his shirt in favor of reaching out for his face and bringing him in for a kiss. Their teeth clash and it’s painful at first but they fall into a heated rhythm and Niall’s practically climbing Bressie to get closer to him. Bressie groans into Niall’s mouth and slides his hand under his shirt, clutching at Niall’s sweaty skin to bring him tighter against his body so he can lift him in one fell swoop and gently lower him to the bed.

Bressie’s on his fly, mouthing at Niall’s stomach and hips as he opens his jeans and slides them off. Niall hisses when his knee twists the wrong way as he tries to kick his jeans off, but Bressie puts his mouth to Niall’s knee, kissing it better, and the pain doesn’t seem so bad anymore. One of his socks slides off with his jeans but the other stays on, forgotten, in favor of Bressie getting his mouth back on Niall and moaning into his skin, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses all the way up until he reaches Niall’s pants. They’re plain white - nothing special - but fuck if Niall doesn’t look amazing in them with his dick pressing insistently at the fabric, begging for something, _anything_ , to give him some sort of relief.

Bressie looks up at Niall, who’s just unbuttoned the last two buttons on his shirt, and he groans at the sight. Niall’s hair is a disheveled mess and his mouth is red from kissing so hard, and he’s shining with sweat and his chest is heaving with each breath. He’s totally debauched but yet still reaching out for Bressie, begging for more without ever even saying a word. Niall’s legs are parted and he’s mostly naked but far too desperate for Bressie to do anything about the last bits of clothing he’s wearing.

In one swift move, Bressie’s got his shirt up and over his head, and he starts fumbling at his jeans. “No. Just - please. Now,” Niall pants.

Bressie raises his eyebrow and yeah, Niall’s definitely got _something_ about clothes, be it impatience or something else, but whatever it is, Bressie likes it. He walks to the side table, his jeans open revealing the bulge in his boxers for Niall to stare at, and when Bressie climbs back onto the bed he’s got lube and a condom in his hand. “You sure?” he asks softly.

The mood in the room slows down; it’s not so frantic, so desperate, but certainly still hot. Niall nods, words escaping him once more, and he knows he shouldn’t but he slides a hand over the front of his pants anyway, trying to prove to Bressie that yeah, he’s definitely sure about this. “You’re a fucking tease, chief,” Bressie laughs as he sets the stuff aside in favor of pulling Niall’s pants off.

Now Niall’s sprawled out on the bed, skin pink and flushed and sweaty, his dick heavy and full against his stomach, and his legs spread wide in anticipation. Niall laughs, though it comes out breathy and high, and he fumbles around until he finds the lube. He holds it out to Bressie, emphasizing just how ready he is, and Bressie doesn’t waste any more time. “You ever done this before?” he asks as he preps Niall slowly with one finger first, sucking angry red marks into Niall’s inner thighs, marks he’s going to feel for days.

Niall’s breath comes out shuddery and shallow and he says, “J-just a couple times.” He sighs as Bressie slides in a second finger whilst he’s mid-sentence. “Not for a w-while.”

Bressie takes it nice and slow, teasing Niall until he looks ready to cry, he’s been strung out so much. He’s flushed and panting and his hair’s an absolute mess, but Bressie thinks he’s never seen Niall looking more perfect. Niall’s still got that one sock on, and his shirt’s falling down his shoulders but the dark fabric is still draped across his pale skin, and Bressie can’t really wait any longer. “F-fuckin’ finally,” Niall laughs breathlessly as he sees Bressie reach for the condom.

Bressie reaches for his jeans to push them off, but Niall mutters, “No, no, leave ‘em on,” and scoots further down the bed, desperate for it.

Bressie’s never been able to say no whenever Niall’s involved - particularly when he’s begging for something - so he leaves his jeans on and he pushes his boxers down his thighs so he can roll the condom onto his red, leaking prick. Niall lays on the bed, arms tossed haphazardly above his head as he watches Bressie slick himself up, and he licks his lips without thought. “Heh, you like watching?” Bressie teases.

“Just get in me,” Niall mutters breathlessly. That’s a whole other _thing_ he’s not going to think about until later.

He’s pulling his legs out of the way, up toward his chest, and he watches as Bressie puts a knee up on the edge of the bed and then lines up, the weight of his dick warm and heady against Niall. He takes a deep breath and watches as Bressie oh-so-gently presses forward. There’s resistance - there always is - but Niall lets out a groan of relief when the head finally presses past and Bressie starts to fill him up.

Niall’s jaw drops and his head tilts back as Bressie seems to just keep going and going. “S-so big,” Niall mutters, feeling fuller than he ever has before, and he’s got to reach down and put a hand on Bressie’s thigh, slowing him down so he can properly adjust.

“Y’alright?” Bressie breathes, sliding a soothing hand up Niall’s thigh and then back down, finger dancing lightly over Niall’s dick where it’s lying forgotten on his stomach.

Niall nods quickly, frantically, like he is, but at the same time he isn’t. Bressie lets Niall adjust though, and doesn’t move again until Niall begs him to. He presses in to the hilt, filling Niall completely, and he can’t fight the smile spreading across his face when Niall mutters, “Oh fucking - _fuck_ Brez, _move_.”

Bressie leans in, pressing Niall in half, so he can capture his lips in a messy kiss. Niall’s a lazy kisser when he’s being fucked, little kisses peppered between lots of open mouthed moans and curses when Bressie hits just the right spot. He can’t concentrate on much of anything, not when Bressie makes him feel so full and so split open, but so completely content all at the same time. Niall’s pretty sure he could do this for the rest of forever, it feels so good.

Niall reaches one arm above his head to fist his hands in the blankets, and when he does, the shirt drapes over his pale chest. Bressie smirks as he sees Niall’s hard nipple peeking through one of the see-through spots, and he can’t help but lean down and mouth over it. Niall lets out a shout of surprise, his hand dropping instead to grab at Bressie’s hair, but they both like it, Bressie’s hips slowing so he can pay proper attention elsewhere, too.

They’re both shaking with it, the intensity and the weight that this is their first time together, and with how good it makes them both feel. Niall’s incoherent now, Bressie’s hands teasing his sensitive nipples through the fabric of the shirt as he rolls his hips, dick hitting the perfect angle inside of him over and over again. Niall’s just lying there by this point, bent in half, his hands gripping the blankets or Bressie’s hair or even his own, sometimes - whatever is within reach. His legs are wrapped around Bressie’s middle and when he does form coherent words, it’s usually just _please, more_ or _right there_.

Bressie’s getting close, he can feel it coiling in his belly and it feels like he’s going to burst, it’s so much. He’s buried his face in Niall’s neck, sucking dark, angry marks that’ll let everyone know Niall is _his_ into Niall’s soft, pale skin. Niall’s full-on whimpering now, his chest heaving with each breath and his whole body just wrapped around Bressie’s taking in every ounce of pleasure he can. “B-Brez - ,” Niall says, his voice choked and soft, before his whole body shakes with it, come spurting up between them, making a mess of their bodies and Niall’s favourite shirt.

It feels like it goes on forever, and Niall’s still out of it and trying desperately to catch his breath when Bressie slides out of him and starts cleaning up the mess. Niall’s got marks on the back of his thighs and on his bum from where Bressie’s jeans unforgivingly scratched at him, and he kicks off the clothes rather than pulling them back on. He sneaks out of the room to grab a warm flannel to wash them up, and when he comes back, Niall’s smiling and looking mostly-asleep where he lies sprawled out on the duvet. “I fucking love you, chief,” Bressie smiles as he wipes the come off of Niall’s flushed skin. It’s all over - pooled in his belly button, dripping down the V of his hips, and splattered all over his shirt. “Take this off,” he whispers, watching as Niall dozes in and out of consciousness.

Bressie gets Niall out of the black shirt and tugs off the one striped sock that managed to stay on throughout all of that, and then climbs into bed, draping himself behind Niall, arm around his middle. “Love you too, Brez,” Niall yawns with a smile.

He’d imagined a million different ways to say that to Bressie for the first time, but he thinks this way - the spontaneous way - is even better.


	4. Autumn '11 - Summer '12 + Epilogue

It’s a hot, sticky, miserable September day when Nick’s phone starts ringing. He’d been hoping to lounge around in the air conditioning all day, but clearly his workplace has other plans for him.

“Nick Grimshaw, you have one hour to get yourself to the studio or this opportunity goes to someone else.”

Nick nearly drops his phone when he hears it, and in a panic he asks, “What?”

“Scott Mills can’t come in today, so you’ve got to do the pop news interview. The segment starts in exactly one hour, so stop asking questions and get your arse down here,” Fiona instructs.

The thought of moving up in the world and gaining even more exposure has Nick hanging up without so much as a goodbye. He hops into his car and hopes to god that traffic won’t suck too badly. Thankfully, it’s not too awful, since there’s nice weather. It’s sunny for once - September isn’t always nice like that - and there are a lot of pedestrians out. Nick’s already done the breakfast show that morning, but he’d go back to work at even the slightest opportunity. He’s fine with his job, but the thought of more, of moving up the ranks, makes him eager to do as others ask, even if he hasn’t got a clue what he’s meant to be doing that day.

Nick ends up arriving with just a few minutes to spare, and he doesn’t even have time to think before he’s being handed the schedule for the afternoon. Only then can he breathe and read over the agenda for the day. He’s got an interview with - _Harry Styles_.

It feels too good to be true, that the very man that’s been on Nick’s mind daily for the past few weeks, ever since his breakup with Michael, is the man he’s going to be interviewing at the very last minute. Somewhere in the universe, someone’s looking down on him with a smile, and Nick will definitely believe more of that karma-spirits-mumbo jumbo stuff Pixie’s always going on about when they’re drunk on wine and immersed deep in incense and poor lighting. Only now does Nick appreciate it - welcome it - if it’ll bring him back to Harry, he’ll take it.

He has mere seconds to compose himself before getting right to it, popping into radio DJ mode as he sits down in the booth across from Harry. “Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, this is Nick Grimshaw coming to you live from the BBC Radio 1 Studios with an _exclusive_ interview with the one and only Harry Styles!” he says, reading the scripted intro, with some edits, of course, from the sheet of paper in front of him. “Seems just yesterday I was playing his record on air for the first time, and now here he is in front of me, a fully-fledged pop star with a national tour and everything.”

Harry’s sitting across the booth from Nick, grinning from ear to ear at the pleasant surprise, and he waves as he says, “Hiya, Nick. I’ve missed you.” His voice is warm and thick and exactly like Nick remembers, though Harry’s changed outwardly quite a bit. His hair’s longer now, falling on his shoulders, and Harry combs it out of his face with his fingers as he adjusts his shirt, something gaudy and patterned and likely only buttoned to the middle of his stomach.

“You as well,” Nick says, his radio presenter voice on and in full swing. It’s difficult, but he thinks he’s managing not to get too distracted at the sight of handsome, famous Harry Styles. Except he seems the same as he always has, with that glow in his eyes and the way he plays with his lower lip as he speaks. No matter how famous he gets, Nick still sees the boy in Colchester, the one who trusted him without a second thought, even in the face of negativity from Louis and how many others. He’s still sweet, humble Harry, and Nick’s so, so in love. “How have you been? How’s life treating you after your album launched?”

Harry looks so pleased as he says, “I’ve been great. I feel so lucky to have such amazing fans who keep buying albums and sharing my music with their friends. I’ve even got people out in the US asking for access to my album on iTunes, it’s insane.”

“That’s wonderful,” Nick smiles. “Congratulations to you, that’s amazing news!”

“Thank you,” Harry nods. “It’s really exciting. I feel so very lucky.”

Nick flips through his papers and says, “It is! It’s always so great to see people from the very beginning. You wrote all your songs for your first album, right?”

“Yeah, most of them. I collaborated on a few with this guy named Julian, a really talented songwriter. We sort of just improved on my old stuff for this first album.”

“Are you working with him on another album, too?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, sounding very pleased. “We’ve been working really hard on a second studio album to put out, hopefully to a wider audience this time. I can’t believe how well the first went over.”

“It’s good music!” Nick reassures him. “You’re very talented, and the tunes are so catchy.” Nick may or may not know the words to every single one of them by heart, but he’s not going to admit that on air, so long as his brain-to-mouth filter holds up.

“Thank you,” Harry says, beaming proudly.

“So is your songwriting all like, personal experiences? Where do you draw your inspiration from?”

Harry clears his throat and grows serious as he says, “I guess it’s a mix of a lot of different things. Some of it is experiences, yeah, or maybe even dreams or things I wish I could experience. I mean obviously we’re none of us totally objective, so a bit of my personal experiences are going to come through in everything. It’s inevitable.”

Nick nods, his heart thrumming wildly in his chest. The song Harry had written for him made it on to his debut album - that in itself was enough to make Nick melt. But knowing the rest are personal too, the songs about pride, the songs about heartbreak - it’s all stuff that Harry has felt, and Nick hopes that not too much of the sad stuff was because of him. “What song are you proudest of?” Nick asks. “Like, if you had to sing one song at every show and every performance from now until the end of time, which would you want it to be?”

“‘Happily’, definitely,” Harry says. “It was my first single, and I wrote it for a really special guy, and like… it’s just very close to my heart. I’ve never been prouder of anything I’ve written, honestly.” And _well_ , Nick thinks. Maybe the song Harry played him that night, on their first date in the cramped radio studios in Colchester, wasn’t the only song written for him. “Happily” is so bright, so youthful, Nick finds himself hoping with fingers crossed that it was written for him, too.

Nick looks over his list of banned questions and doesn’t see anything having to do with sexuality, so he asks, mostly for the viewers since he already knows the answer, “A guy, huh? Any special guy in your life right now?”

Harry smiles coyly at Nick over the microphone and admits, “I’ve always sort of been hung up on my first love but no, nobody special in my life right now.” It’s purposefully vague, but also leaves Nick feeling the slightest, most foolish bit of hope.

Harry’s answer has Nick’s heart pounding in his chest, and he doesn’t know what to do with this information. “You - yeah? Your first love, huh?” Nick asks. He coughs and tries to compose himself, to get back into radio personality mode. “Maybe you should just tell them how you feel? See what they say?”

“Easier said than done,” Harry chuckles. Nick can see the phone in the corner suddenly ringing off the hook.

“Anyone would be lucky to date _you_ , Harry Styles,” Nick says.

Harry’s blushing furiously as he says, “Thank you.”

“Alright, more about Harry’s love life when we come back. Here’s Ellie Goulding, followed by Adele’s new hit ‘Hello’!”

The _on air_ light switches off and Nick pulls his headphones off to look at Harry properly. “D’you mean what you said?” Nick asks, not sure if he should believe it or not.

Harry looks young and shy all over again as he nods and stands up, meeting Nick at the edge of the table where they’d previously been sat facing each other. They’re standing toe to toe and Nick’s looking down at Harry, though not as much as he used to because Harry’s taller now - he’s all grown up. Nick’s old and Harry’s getting older and the timing feels different this time - it feels _right_. “Hi,” Harry smiles, looking up at Nick with a smirk on his face.

Nick doesn’t even bother replying, he just leans in for a kiss. Harry reaches up to hold Nick’s face in his hands, and Nick’s hands grip Harry’s shirt tight as they kiss right there in the studio, all the pent-up feelings bubbling to the surface, pushing away all the missed chances and the bad timing over the years. It all comes down to this, right here and right now, and there’s no place either of them would rather be.

They stand there, wrapped up in each other’s embrace, and the only alert they get when the show is back on air is Fiona’s bright laughter, and her voice startling them out of their reverie as she says, “For those of you just tuning in, or waiting to hear about Harry Styles’ love life, I feel it is my duty to tell you that he _has_ in fact told his first love how he feels, and the future looks bright for the two of them.”

Nick feels a knot tighten in his stomach, and he looks at Harry, who is looking right back at Nick, still cupping his jaw, and Nick gapes for a moment. “Is this… okay?” Nick whispers.

Harry smiles, gives Nick another peck on the lips, and sits down at his microphone. Nick knows how risky this is, how Fiona might’ve just gone and really fucked things up for Harry, but something about Harry’s serenity, how he looks so calm in the face of such a big announcement has Nick feeling a little less out of sorts. It’s not that being gay is bad, because Nick is the very last person on the planet who would ever say such a thing, but… it can do things to Harry’s career, publically dating a man, especially one ten years his senior. Things Harry may not be emotionally prepared to face.

Like total disaster.

He’s just achieved his dream, gotten on the road to success, grown an audience and a following and started developing as a songwriter. Nick dreads the thought of it ever being taken away from him, of Harry ever having to say goodbye to that dream, least of all because he’s dating _Nick_. It’s just that Nick - well, all he ever wants these days is for Harry to be happy, even if before the interview, they hadn’t spoken in months. He’s as hung up on Harry as Harry is on him, and Nick knows it’s hopeless really, that there’s no dissuading Harry from this now, because he’s about to open his mouth and profess his love for Nick to the entire world.

“Fiona is right,” Harry says, his voice smooth and calm, so self-assured as he speaks. “I’ve just snogged Nick Grimshaw in the Radio 1 studios and it was the best kiss of my life.” Nick’s face is beet red, he feels how hot he’s getting just knowing that the entire afternoon commute is listening in on this, and he doesn’t know how to process it, how to form words. “And just so there’s no confusion, I’m gay, and I have been for as long as I can remember. I’m also madly in love with Nick Grimshaw, and I have been since I was eighteen.”

Harry’s smiling, beaming with that look on his face of pure happiness, and he looks eighteen all over again, except with longer hair. And Nick’s breathless, words stolen out of his mouth as he gapes across the table at Harry. It’s the most public proclamation of feelings Nick’s ever witnessed, and it’s aimed at him, and he hates himself for getting so choked up about it. “Grimmy, anything to say in return?” Fiona prompts, hoping to avoid dead air during Nick’s big break.

Nick focuses on Harry, keeps his gaze locked on Harry’s bright, sparkling green eyes, and says breathlessly in reply, “I love you, too.”

“And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen, Nick Grimshaw and Harry Styles are officially a couple. You heard it first - and a couple of you saw it, too - right here on BBC Radio 1!” she says, and then closes out the segment, switching to music yet again.

“Saw it!?” Nick shrieks as soon as they’re off air. “The cameras were on!?”

Harry just chuckles as he watches Nick get all bent out of shape, and Fiona smiles at him. “Everything’s fine. Your boyfriend looks totally calm about it, and you should, too,” she says. “Now get it together, Grim. You’ve got a show to do,” she says, stepping out of the studio.

Harry’s laughing across the way, and Nick feels both irritated and overjoyed, though mostly like he just wants to pin Harry up against the wall and snog him senseless. He doesn’t know what else to say, so he just says lamely, “We’re dating. Again.”

With a nod, Harry replies, “Yeah, we are.”

“We should talk about this.” Nick doesn’t mean to sound so ominous, but he really is worried, really does hope that he hasn’t gone and fucked things up supremely. Harry deserves his success, deserves to keep performing. Nick would be crushed if he took that away from Harry just by loving him.

The phones are still ringing off the hook, and Nick vaguely registers the barrage of text messages from his friends, never mind the thousands of Twitter mentions popping up on his phone. Whoever switched them on when he’d already shut them off is a terrible person, and he’s never letting his drunk friends near his phone ever again - even if they only take his phone to keep him from sending desperate-sounding texts to Harry.

The rest of the show goes swimmingly, with Nick taking a few callers who congratulate him and Harry and then ask Harry about his upcoming shows. Nick thinks this is good, that he might have a shot of doing an afternoon radio show eventually so he can have a normal sleep schedule for once, but that’s not really at the front of his mind. What he really wants to do is talk to Harry about this, to make sure it’s what he really wants.

As it turns out, they’ve only got an hour after the show to go down the hall and get coffee before Harry’s got to be off for some press in Ireland, so Nick only has a chance to ask him once, to make sure this is what Harry wants, to which Harry just laughs and kisses him.

Nick used to think he was easygoing, but compared to Harry, he’s as uptight as Liam. When did that happen, he wonders.

They part with a kiss and a promise to call soon, and Nick is left feeling content, but still a bit worried, that nagging voice in his head reminding him that this could hurt Harry’s career, the very thing he’s worked so hard for.

Nick really just hopes it doesn’t come down to that.

\+ + +

_come over? i’ve got pizza and beer_

Louis stares at his phone for a moment, confused by the out-of-nowhere invitation from Zayn. They hadn’t made plans together, but lately Louis hasn’t had anything else to do when he’s not working, so he doesn’t think it would suck all that much to have plans. Sure, having a baby around might mean they can’t get up to much, but really, they haven’t done that in months anyway.

Deciding he’d rather lounge about someone else’s place than his own, Louis sends off a quick _sure, be there soon_ before tugging on a hoodie and trudging out the door. It’s October, so there’s a chill in the air, but it’s not the worst sort of weather England’s ever seen. The rain cleared up earlier that day but Louis’s worn-out canvas Vans are still soaked through by the time he gets to Zayn’s. Things still aren’t totally sorted between them, at least not back to the way things used to be, but it’s getting better. It’s like they’ve started learning each other all over again. It wasn’t even a very long separation, but it felt like it, with how different they both are now.

It takes Louis nearly no time at all to get Zayn’s, and when he does, he’s surprised by how quiet and still everything seems. He knocks on the door, still not back to how he used to barge in unannounced. He’s not entirely sure he ever will be. Zayn shouts from inside that Louis can come in, and when he does, he notices that the house is just as quiet as it was outside, save for the sound of action movie DVD disc menu music coming from the lounge. “Zayn?” Louis asks, toeing off his shoes and peeking around the corner.

Zayn steps out of the kitchen instead, and holds a beer out to Louis. “Hey,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Hi,” Louis says, taking the beer by the neck of the bottle. He doesn’t take a sip yet. Something feels different and he can’t place it; it’s unsettling and he wants to know what’s going on. The silence is too much, it’s too unusual, and Louis can’t help but ask, “Where’s Sara?”

“She’s with Pezza tonight,” Zayn says.

And it hits Louis all of a sudden that the reason the invitation felt so confusing and foreign is because Zayn’s plan for the night is so different. It makes sense now. Louis and Zayn haven’t spent time together without Sara since before she was born, since that afternoon in Louis’s old car. Since they were the people they used to be, rather than the people they are now. Louis’s breath catches and he takes a beat to compose himself before he says, “Oh. I had no idea.”

“That was the point,” Zayn nods.

“Trying to get me alone?” Louis teases. Or -- he means to tease, but this is new and it perhaps doesn't come off as teasing. He sounds stilted and harsh, and really, he doesn't know how to handle this, Zayn purposely planning for them to be alone.

Zayn just pulls the box of pizza off the counter and walks into the lounge, assuming Louis will follow.

There’s already another beer in the lounge, sitting on the coffee table next to where Zayn puts down their dinner. Louis trails behind, still grappling with what exactly is going on. He thought they’d be hanging out like they’ve done in the past, usually taking care of Sara somehow, be it taking her to the park or the pool. They’d gone to the pool most often, where Zayn would lie on a lounger whilst Louis took Sara into the wading pool. Zayn doesn’t know how to swim. But he doesn’t want Sara to deal with that, to get to the age where it’s ridiculous to have to learn to swim, where you should already know. So Louis helps her float around and she loves it.

But now there’s a shift in everything they do, a tension that wasn’t there before as Louis realizes this is it, this is _really_ his chance, because he’s got Zayn all to himself and they’re alone and they’re changed and maybe this time around Louis won’t totally fuck it up.

Except he always manages to fuck everything up, so he's already preparing for the worst.

The more Louis thinks about the fact that they’re alone together in Zayn’s house, the more he starts to wonder why this was all planned. Zayn’s not even out. He's never shown any inclination towards Louis except when he's drunk, until now.

The lights are dim and set the mood - usually there’s plenty of lamps on so Sara can see her toys, but now they’re off except for one standing in the corner. The lights from the TV flicker as the main menu of the DVD repeats, waiting for them to be ready to watch. The whole place is clean, Sara’s toys in a box in the corner and nothing else strewn about.

“Did you plan this?” Louis asks as he sits next to Zayn. He takes a drink of his beer just to occupy his time, to keep himself from having to look Zayn in the eye.

Zayn offers Louis a slice of pizza before he answers. When he does, his voice is soft. “Yeah, I did. Thought we could give this a go.”

“This?” Louis bravely turns to look at Zayn.

Zayn just nods and nudges Louis’s arm with a playful smile on his lips. “Yeah, this,” he repeats, being deliberately vague.

He settles in on the sofa and presses play on the movie - _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , which Louis has wanted to see for ages - and they don’t say much while they eat. They finish their beers and while Louis would usually want another, or maybe something stronger, now he doesn’t. He just hasn’t felt like drinking as much as he used to. Zayn doesn’t either, so by the time the city is floating in the air, they’re sitting awkwardly next to each other with their hands in their laps. Louis glances over at Zayn and sighs. “I'm cold,” he frowns. “Your flat is fucking freezing tonight.”

“You should wear socks,” Zayn says, nodding to Louis's bare feet.

“I shouldn't have to,” Louis replies. He knows he's being mean, but he doesn't know what to do. He's uncomfortable and this feels too serious, too much like progress for him to be able to process it like a mature adult.

Zayn sighs and vows to get some socks for Louis, to keep around for nights like this. Louis is still glaring at him, but Zayn ignores that. “Alright, get over here,” he says.

Louis raises an eyebrow at Zayn, mostly just to make him squirm, and when Zayn really does look at him nervously, like Louis is about to say no, Louis smiles. He full on laughs after a moment, mostly just to break the tension. He doesn’t know what else to do. Rather than just sliding down the sofa like a normal person, Louis sprawls out, taking up a lot of space like he tends to do, his head landing in Zayn’s lap. Zayn pulls the blanket down off the back of the sofa and drapes it over Louis, his arm falling to Louis’s waist. His other hand finds Louis’s hair and he cards his fingers through it gently. Now that Louis seems to be taking better care of himself, his hair is much softer, and his scruff is much neater. He looks amazing, if Zayn’s being totally honest, and he’d been worried for a while that Louis might not ever get to this point.

As much as Louis wants to over think what they’re doing, to get nervous and itch for more definition, more information on what exactly it is that they’re doing, he can’t. Not when Zayn’s fingers are sliding through his hair and brushing over his scalp and relaxing him so much. Not when this whole _thing_ feels so right.

He’d forgotten how good it felt to just be held, to be able to close his eyes and melt into another person.

Louis’s heart starts to race once the credits roll on the movie, because he doesn’t know what’s next. If this is meant to be a date, there are only a few ways this could go from here. He’s not sure what he’s hoping for, all he knows is he doesn’t want to go home yet. He sits up slowly, stretching and yawning, as Zayn switches off the DVD player and the telly, deciding he’d rather not clean up any more than that. He’s exhausted, even on his day off, because taking care of Sara really takes it out of him.

Louis looks over at Zayn, who’s at the opposite end of the sofa now that Louis’s sat up, and they just stare at each other for a moment. Louis watches Zayn lick his lips, the way his dark eyes dart down to look at Louis’s mouth, and that’s all the sign Louis needs. He stands up and faces Zayn properly, his hand outstretched. Zayn takes it without question. It’s tense and awkward and Zayn’s clearly not sure what’s going on, but Louis is taking charge even if he’s not being obnoxiously loud about it, and it feels like _something_.

Their hands linked, dry and warm, Louis leads them down the hallway to Zayn’s bedroom. They close the door behind them and Louis faces Zayn properly. “Louis - ,” Zayn begins.

“I think this is going to work just fine,” Louis says with a smile - a real genuine one, not just a smirk - and he steps closer to Zayn.

Zayn looks relieved and nods, a smile on his lips. “Yeah,” he breathes, his nose bumping Louis’.

Their free hands have found each other and they stand there, hands clasped at their sides, just looking at each other for a minute. Louis is nearly going cross-eyed, but he loves the feeling he gets in his chest, the feeling of all the weight being lifted, when he sees the happiness in Zayn’s eyes, on his face, in every inch of his body. The awkwardness is gone now, there’s no room for it among all the relief and happiness they feel, with the comfort flooding in as they realize that even though they’d drifted apart they’d never, ever lost each other.

“Would you just fucking kiss me already?” Louis demands impatiently, laughing lightly.

Zayn dips in, their noses bumping as he tips his head to the right and his lips press to Louis’.

It’s so different from how things had been last time they were close like this, last time they kissed and touched and let themselves be vulnerable. Zayn used to think that fooling around and hooking up with Louis was good because of the drugs, or the alcohol, because they were never sober when they did it. But then he dropped that stuff and still found himself thinking about Louis, about what sorts of things Louis would like better, would like not as much, if he were sober. About whether Louis would even want him if he was sober.

And for a while it felt like they’d never get a chance to find out, because Zayn stuck to it whereas Louis hit the drinking and the drugs harder than ever. Zayn’s still amazed that they’re at this point, that Louis really did shake it all and get smart about it. He’d worried that he wouldn’t, that he’d be lost in the mess.

It wasn’t until he had to watch Louis spiral out of control that Zayn realized how badly he wanted to see Louis succeed.

Now Louis is doing well for himself, and Zayn doesn’t want to miss a second of it. He lets go of Louis’s hands in favor of gripping his hips, pulling him closer, and smiling as Louis presses in for another kiss, his tongue dragging over the seam of Zayn’s lips. Zayn parts them, breathes into the kiss, and feels Louis shiver under his touch. Hands tangled in Zayn’s hair, Louis walks them toward the bed.

They’re too lazy for much other than falling with a big _oomph_ onto the mattress, but they kiss until their lips are dark and bruised with it all, until they’re kissing only to stay awake, until they drift off to sleep with their mouths close and their limbs tangled. It’s the most amazing night Louis could have ever imagined, and he feels comfort settling deep in his bones because he knows it’s not the last time it’ll happen.

He knows that whatever it is he’s just started with Zayn, it’s for the long term.  
\+ + +

Niall and Bressie are sitting around in Bressie’s room, curled up in his bed eating crisps and watching a football match when he brings it up. Niall’s so comfortable he almost wants to pretend he’s asleep, except he’s crunched loudly just now on some crisps so he knows he can’t get away with it. “You still haven’t seen someone about that knee,” Bressie reminds him.

Niall closes his eyes and swallows his food, trying to figure out a way to get around this. Considering his field of study, it should be no big deal to go to the doctor for a bad knee, but he’s in a hospital or surgery all the time now, so the last thing he wants to do is go into a GP surgery on his day off. He cuddles up next to Bressie and tries to mask his flinch when his knee turns the wrong way, and he hopes that by being especially adorable he can get away with not going. “I’m fine,” he insists.

Bressie’s hand drops to Niall’s knee and Niall shies away on instinct, giving himself away. “Just see a doctor, chief. Get it sorted out,” Bressie says. “It’ll only get worse, the longer you wait.”

“I know,” Niall sighs. He abandons his idea to feign wellness because he can’t get anything past Bressie, not now, so instead he just says, “But why would I go back to work on my day off?”

“Because work is fucking up your knee,” Bressie says. “They’ve got better braces, you should get one of those,” he tries.

Niall frowns. “I’m pretty sure I’ll need surgery. I was talking to one of the doctors at work the other day - you know, purely hypothetical stuff - and he said that for the amount of pain I’m dealing with, I’ll probably need surgery.”

“So? Then get the surgery!”

“But like -,” Niall sighs, and he sets the chips aside so he can sit up and face Bressie properly. “I’m _so_ close to being done. I’ve got like, six more months of term and then I’m graduating. Why can’t I just wait until then?”

“The longer you wait -,”

“- The worse it’ll get, I know.”

Niall nods, and he’s smart, Bressie knows this, it’s just - he hates seeing Niall in pain. He hates that Niall puts himself through the ringer at work and comes home with a swollen knee and a limp so bad he ends up being carried around by Bressie because putting weight on his knee hurts too badly. Niall’s thought a lot about this though, and Bressie knows he has because that’s what Niall does - he gets lost in his head. He’s a thinker. He’s brilliant. He’s just far too stubborn for his own good.

“Look - I’ll see a doctor, okay? We’ll go like, next week or something. I’ve got a couple of days off,” Niall concedes. “But I’m not getting surgery until after I graduate, that I won’t change my mind on. I’m so close to the end and I don’t want to quit now. Just… let me graduate, okay? Let me get through that, and then I’ll do it.”

Bressie’s face is serious and blank and Niall knows full well that it doesn’t really matter what Bressie says anyway, because Niall can make his own decisions, it’s just - he wants this all to be okay with Bressie. He wants his support. Having Bressie agree, support him in this, makes Niall feel better inside. He feels more secure when he knows he’s not upsetting Bressie with something that he’s doing. This knee has been the only point of contention with them now, Niall’s late hours finally becoming a conflict of the past.

“Fine,” Bressie agrees finally. “Fine, I’ll agree to that if you promise to set an appointment now to see someone, and if you need surgery - we set it as soon as you graduate, alright? I want you well again.”

“I feel fine,” Niall insists, curling up against Bressie’s side again.

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Bressie laughs.

Niall looks up at him in the dim light of the telly and kisses his jaw, smiling sweetly at him. “Thanks for taking care of me, Brez,” Niall says softly, meaningfully.

And he really does - Bressie is always there for Niall, even when Niall’s not always there in return. He looks out for him, reminds him to eat and sleep and cuts his hair so it doesn’t get in his eyes. Niall wants to repay him one day, wants to do everything Bressie could ever want, wants to give him everything in the future - to build a home with him, to maybe get a pet with him or even have a kid or two with him. Niall’s head over heels for Bressie, really, and can’t wait to prove it to him one day, when life isn’t quite so hectic.

“Shut it, would ya?” Bressie laughs, turning his head to give Niall a kiss proper. “No need to thank me for something like that.”

Niall closes his eyes and chuckles into the kiss, gingerly climbing onto Bressie’s lap to straddle him. “I can thank you for anything I want. In any way I want,” he says, threading his fingers through Bressie’s hair as he scoots closer, pressing them chest to chest.

“You’re a fuckin’ minx, Niall, _Jesus_ ,” Bressie mutters into Niall’s mouth, and Niall just grins in reply.

And yeah, what he’s doing might not be good for his knee, but it’s still fun, and they don’t do it all that often, and really - Niall does enjoy thanking Bressie. A lot.

So they go see a doctor the following week, and it’s about as bad as Bressie had suspected. There’s a strained ligament, and if Niall’s not careful he’s going to tear it completely, so as a result he ends up with a thick brace on his knee that barely fits under his scrubs. He wears it all the time, even though it slows him down, because most of the time the pain isn’t so bad with it on - so long as he takes his medicine, of course. He’d been given painkillers as well, something stronger than a plain old paracetamol pill or two, and that’s helping, too.

Bressie still makes him take it easy though, and sometimes he’ll even carry Niall around even though now he doesn’t need to.

Niall thinks that’s more of a size kink thing than anything, that Bressie likes being bigger and taller and stronger, and really - he loves it just as much. Nearly as much as he loves leaving clothes on when they fool around, but he thinks maybe that’s why they work so well together.

One particular winter evening, however, in which Niall had done a night shift at the hospital and been in the paediatrics ward when some near-fatalities from a car accident came in, he’d done a lot of running. The kid in the car was losing a lot of blood, and fast, and Niall had to spring into action.

His knee didn’t hurt at all during it. That’s one of the blessings of adrenaline, he supposes, but afterward, when he was taking off his gloves and ignoring the bits of blood that he’d gotten on his Mickey Mouse scrub top, the pain really set in. It shot through his leg, straight to his ankle and up to his hip, and he had to sit down even with his hands dripping wet. One of his classmates was on assignment with him, and she looked at him worriedly as he closed his eyes and tried to breathe through it. “You alright?” she’d asked.

Niall just nodded. Stressed and in pain and worried about how he’s going to get the blood out of this top so he doesn’t scare another kid in the future, Niall makes his way to the bus stop to catch the late bus home. When he reaches his stop he can hardly walk, and he goes right toward his room - well, _Bressie’s_ , technically speaking, but they share his room now, and Niall’s room is basically abandoned. He’s barely taken two steps inside before Bressie’s climbing out of bed and walking over to Niall, looking worried. Each step Niall takes looks labored, pain evident on his face. He even had to clutch the doorframe just to get inside the room, to support him because he wasn’t sure he could do it on his own two legs. “Babe…” Bressie mutters.

With a hiss, Niall lets Bressie pick him up and carry him to the bed, where Niall closes his eyes and lays back, reaching out blindly for Bressie’s hand. “What happened?” Bressie asks, alarmed.

“Emergency trauma,” Niall says. “Had to - had to get the kid to surgery. Ran the whole way.” He tries to laugh it off when he adds, “I’m so fucking stupid, Brez.”

Bressie sits on the bed, frowning, and looks down at Niall. He sees the blood splattered on his uniform, knows Niall did everything for that kid, _of course_ he would, because Niall’s a hero, whether he realizes it or not. “Did the kid make it?” Bressie asks hopefully.

Niall, eyes still closed where he’s finally breathing normally again, nods and says with a smile, “Yeah. He did.”

Bressie’s glad for that, glad to see that it wasn’t for naught, that Niall feels like putting himself through all this pain was worth it. And he’s immeasurably proud of Niall, really, because sometimes this stuff is hard, seeing kids so banged up, seeing them at their worst, when survival isn’t always guaranteed. And Niall does it day in and day out and still comes home like this, beat up and broken, but so proud of what he’s accomplished.

“Let’s get you into some pyjamas and get some ice on that knee,” Bressie says, switching into physio mode.

Niall tosses his head back on the blankets with a loud, displeased groan. “You’ve got blood on your uniform. You’ve got to change,” Bressie insists, and he rifles around in his dresser - _their_ dresser now - and pulls out some shorts and a shirt.

Then he promptly tosses them at Niall’s face.

The whole time he’s changing, Niall’s wincing and trying like hell not to move his knee too much. Bressie kneels down at the edge of the bed and helps Niall out of his black scrub trousers and then into the shorts. The shirt hangs on Niall like a dress and Bressie chuckles as he realizes it's _his_ shirt, and it looks amazing on him. The neckline is stretched out and hangs off one of Niall’s pale shoulders, but really, Bressie thinks that’s just part of the appeal. Niall looks good in everything, but especially in Bressie’s clothes.

Once he’s changed, Bressie makes Niall sit back on the bed and he grabs the stack of pillows off the floor that they keep on hand for occasions such as this - to use to prop up Niall’s knee, to elevate it and hopefully help the pain. Gently, Bressie removes the brace. Niall’s knee is angry and red and swollen and it could be worse, Bressie knows, but it still looks awful. Niall groans and looks away, disappointed that his knee won’t just keep it together for a few more months. Just three more months to go.

Niall closes his eyes and reclines against the pillows, beyond exhausted and so over having to deal with his knee, but he trusts Bressie, and he knows Bressie won’t hurt him. Even the faint touches and the way Bressie pokes at it just barely, making sure he’s not totally fucked it up, is sweet, and Bressie takes his time and moves as gently as possible. He watches Niall laying there, closing his eyes and pretending the pain isn’t as bad as it really is, and he wishes he could fix it right then and there. Niall needs surgery, and soon, but he’s not going to pressure him to have surgery before he’s ready. He’s not that kind of guy.

Instead, he’ll climb off the bed to get Niall some painkillers and water, and bring a bag of frozen veggies with him to put on Niall’s knee, and he’ll hold Niall and kiss him to distract him from the pain until the medication kicks in. “You’re almost done, chief,” Bressie whispers into Niall’s mouth as they kiss.

Niall grins, presses his lips to Bressie’s again, nice and slow. He loves nights like these the most, the ones where he feels taken care of and protected and like he’s swimming in love, like there’s too much of it to possibly take in. Bressie’s got a big, warm hand dancing over Niall’s tummy, around his hip, caressing and touching and reminding him that he’s there, that he’s not going anywhere. Niall breathes into the kiss, drops his jaw as he melts into the way Bressie’s lips cover his, the way their mouths move together at the same pace, the two of them totally in sync.

“Love you so much, Brez,” Niall whispers, a moan following as he feels the tips of Bressie’s fingers dip under the waistband of his shorts for just a second.

Bressie laughs, presses a kiss to Niall’s jaw, and then whispers in his ear, “Love you too, babe.”

Between little affirmations of love, peppered kisses on necks and jawlines, and feather-light touches wherever they can reach, Niall and Bressie fall asleep curled up in their bed, pleased and content to be in each other’s arms.

\+ + +

The day Louis meets Liam in downtown Colchester to shop for rings, he’s buzzing. There’s only the one jewelry store in town, so Louis hopes that they find something perfect there, but more than that, he hopes that Sophia doesn’t spot them whilst she’s out holiday shopping with her mum. He really wants her to be surprised, wants Liam’s ultimate romantic act to be a total surprise to her, and he knows that if she sees them, it won’t be.

Liam’s already there, huddled up in his jacket, nose pink from the brisk winter air. And of course he’s already there, Louis thinks, because a nervous Liam is an early Liam. Louis smiles at him and claps him on the shoulder. “Relax, mate,” Louis says warmly. “It’s fine.”

“What if I don’t - ?”

“No.”

“But what if she doesn’t - ?”

Louis claps his hand over Liam’s mouth until Liam visibly slumps, muscles relaxed in defeat. Only then does Louis remove his hand and look pointedly at Liam for a moment before he says, “We’re going to find something perfect here, and you’re going to do the cheesiest, sweetest, most romantic thing she’s ever seen, and she’s going to say yes, and then you two are going to live happily ever after. The end.” Liam opens his mouth, but Louis smacks him in the chest and says, “No arguing.”

Liam nods dutifully, quieted by Louis’s reassurances. However, his jitters return as soon as they walk in and he sees the wide selection of diamond rings the store has. “Hello, gentlemen,” the portly man behind the counter greets them. They’ve seen him around town dozens of times - Mr. Chesterfield, Louis thinks - and he’s really very nice. He’s got a suit on, and a monocle, and all he needs is a top hat to look like the Monopoly man. “How can I help you boys today?”

“We’re men now,” Louis reminds him. “Men who come here to look for an engagement ring for Leemo, here.” Louis claps Liam on the shoulder and explains, “He’s going to propose to his girlfriend, and the ring has got to be _perfect_.”

The man looks absolutely overjoyed, and he asks, “Who is the little lady? Do I know her?”

“Probably,” Liam replies. Louis can hear the nervousness in Liam’s voice, and he’s got sympathy. The poor bloke is bricking it, worried that he’s going to pick the wrong ring or that in some freak accident, Sophia will say no. “Her name is Sophia Smith?”

“Oh, little Sophie!” Mr. Chesterfield smiles. “I know her father well. You two make a smart couple, I’ll bet.”

“They really do,” Louis agrees. “Which is why I don’t understand why Liam’s so afraid.”

Liam elbows Louis in the ribs - hard. “It’s alright, Liam,” Mr. Chesterfield reassures him. “Really, I see a lot of nervous bachelors in here, trying to find the perfect ring. When you see it, you’ll know. Trust me.”

“I’ll even model them for you,” Louis teases.

“You joke, but it wouldn’t be the first time,” says Mr. Chesterfield with amusement. He leads them over to a counter along the back wall, which appears to be filled with diamond rings of every cut, shape, and size. “Now, the first step - does she wear silver or gold jewelry?”

“She’ll wear anything Liam gives her,” Louis says, because he knows the two are mad for each other and Sophia wouldn’t mind the color, as long as it meant she got to marry Liam. Liam shoves Louis and laughs nervously, but already he’s looking less tense. Liam likes that about Louis, that he’s kept that _thing_ about him that manages to get him to loosen up. Liam always got caught up in his own head and only Louis and now Sophia seem to be able to pull him out of it.

“She wears a lot of both,” Liam says. “It depends on her outfit. But I like the way silver sparkles.”

“So how about we narrow it down to some white gold bands to start?”

Louis peeks down through the glass as Mr. Chesterfield pulls out a whole tray of diamond rings set in silver bands. Mr. Chesterfield asks the boring questions, like budgets and payment methods, but Louis is far more focused on the looks of all the different rings. He smiles when he sees a huge diamond, one that probably costs more than the whole of his possessions, and slides it onto his finger. “How about this one, Payno?” he teases, holding out his left hand with the rather large diamond on it.

“Alright there, kiddo,” Mr. Chesterfield says, taking the ring off Louis’s finger without even asking. “That diamond is worth more than our lives.”

Louis pouts as Mr. Chesterfield sets it back on the board, but then turns to a much smaller ring, one that is cheap but shines like it costs hundreds. “What about this one?” he asks, holding it up for Liam to seriously consider.

Liam frowns, his brow furrowed. “The diamond is too small,” he says.

It really is; the diamond isn’t even as big as the band. Nobody would be able to see it. Liam looks over the whole board of rings Mr. Chesterfield put in front of him, but shakes his head. “I… I don’t think any of these are the one,” he says. “They’re nice, but not like… nothing stands out. I want whatever Sophia has to stand out. I want it to be something special.”

“Of course,” Mr. Chesterfield says. He slides the box back into the case and locks it, and then leads them a little further down the counter. “These are a bit more expensive, but I think you’ll find them much more to your liking,” he says.

Liam’s eyes go wide; there’s at least two dozen rings to choose from, and all of them look similar, but just different enough to make him feel overwhelmed with the decision. “There’s so many,” he groans.

Louis pats Liam’s back and points to one of the trays. “Let’s start with that one,” he decides, cutting Liam’s options in half. “Do I need to model them for you?”

“You seem desperate to,” Liam mocks. “So go ahead. Let’s see it.”

Louis hums as he looks over the selection, considering each ring before he picks one up and slides it onto his finger. It’s a bit big, and it certainly makes his hand look dainty and feminine, but he’s doing this for Liam, and it’s sort of funny to see. “This one is my favourite,” he says, holding out his hand to Liam so he can analyze it. As he does, Louis pulls out his phone and snaps a photo, sending it off to Zayn with the caption, _ring shopping!! pay up sugar daddy!! ;)_

Liam studies it hard, his brow doing that funny thing where he looks so concentrated he’s trying to go to the bathroom or something, and Louis is amazed when he manages to hold in his laughter. Finally, Liam says, “I like the diamond, but the band is weird. It’s too… textured? I don’t know.”

“Okay, wonderful. You narrowed it down some more,” says Mr. Chesterfield. Louis slides the ring off his hand and puts it back on the board. “So we’re looking for a simple band with a round-cut diamond. I have just the one.”

The tray ends up back in the case, Mr. Chesterfield picking up one specific ring from the tray next to it instead. He holds it out to them, and Louis slides it onto his finger to show it to Liam properly. Liam chuckles at that, and Louis feels successful. If he can at least get Liam to lighten up and smile, then he’s making progress. Sometimes Liam is far too tightly wound for his own good. 

The band is simple silver, something rounded so it looks smooth and clean, and there’s a decent sized diamond at the top of it, shining beautifully in the lights of the shop. Liam just stares at it for a minute, and doesn’t even ask what it costs, just says, “It’s perfect.” With big, wide eyes, Liam grins up at Louis and says, “We found the ring!”

“Yeah?” Louis asks happily, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Liam looks so pleased it’s positively contagious, and Louis is so happy for him, that Liam’s found the one. It feels like things are back to normal when they look at each other, and Louis forgets he’s got the ring on, he’s so excited for his best friend.

“Brilliant!” Mr. Chesterfield says. “What size will you be needing?”

“Seven,” Louis says. He smiles at Liam and says, “I told you I’d get Eleanor to find out, remember?”

“Thanks,” Liam nods sheepishly. He hadn’t even thought about rings needing sizes, though he realizes now what a silly thought that was.

He puts his credit card out on the counter and then shoves his hands in his pockets nervously. “This is going to work, right?” Liam asks, his voice high and tight like the nerves are too much for him now. “She’s going to say yes?”

“She’s going to say yes,” Louis reassures him. “Just breathe, Payno. You’ve got everything planned to perfection. Nothing can possibly go wrong. She’s been madly in love with you since year eight.”

Liam’s eyes go bug-eyed and he asks, “What!?”

“Yeah,” Louis nods, speaking as though it’s all common fact, like Liam should’ve known and was the only one who didn’t figure it out. “She’s been in love with you for ages, you didn’t know that?”

“I -- you didn’t think to tell me!?” Liam asks incredulously.

Liam just smirks at his best friend - the best friend he’s had his whole life, the one he thought he’d lost but never did - and says, “It was better watching you two sort it out on your own.”

Liam signs the papers and takes the ring box from Mr. Chesterfield, his nervousness creeping back in with each passing second that he holds onto the ring. Louis pats his back and keeps his hand there as they walk out of the store, a confident smile on his face. He stays calm and collected since Liam’s struggling with that, and he gives him a big hug once they step out into the dim sunlight. “It’ll go great, Liam, really,” Louis insists. He looks into Liam’s eyes meaningfully, hoping to share his strength and his bravery with Liam, and it seems to work. Liam’s shoulders droop a little, the tension finally gone, and Liam nods. “I promise,” Louis insists. “No matter what, I promise it’ll be alright. But you’ve absolutely got nothing to worry about. I know it.” Louis smirks and adds, “Just don’t forget about little old me, alright? My birthday is next week, in case you’ve forgotten.”

And he’s right.

Just two days later Louis gets an ecstatic call from Liam, telling him that Sophia said yes and the wedding is going to be two years from that summer, and that Louis had better be his best man or he’ll have to come kick his arse. Louis, of course, agrees. He knows he’d win against Liam in a fight, but agreeing and throwing the best stag night ever will be much more fun.

\+ + +

Harry’s out on a press tour for months, but finally gets to have a break for the holidays. Nick is buzzing because once Harry gets back from Colchester, he’s moving back in, and Nick can’t wait. Sure, he’s still nervous about the whole career thing, because he’s seen some of the stuff people are saying about them on Twitter now that Harry’s out, and he’s proud, and he’s not keeping any secrets about his relationship with Nick.

Nick’s just worried that third time’s a charm isn’t true for them, that this is going to end the way it did the first couple of times, and he’s determined to make sure that doesn’t happen. If they stop this whole thing before it really starts, well then - at least they’re avoiding the pain.

Two days after Christmas, Harry shows up at Nick’s flat, the place that was so hard to stay in after Harry left until he did a total remodel to get rid of all the memories of Harry. He’s ready to let him in, to give Harry the chance to leave his mark everywhere all over again. Nick’s nervous; his palms are sweaty and he can’t stop thinking about all the worst case scenarios, but as soon as he opens the door and sees Harry’s face and how he hasn’t changed a bit, not really, not aside from the gaudy leopard print trench coat he’s wearing over his new tight jeans and likely a sheer top. Inside, Harry hasn’t changed one bit. That’s what Nick loves about Harry the most.

No matter what, Harry’s always true to himself - like, to a fault. He follows his dream and leaves his family behind, leaves relationships behind, because he knows in the end that his happiness is the most important. It doesn’t mean it’s always good, though, the way he’s so _out there_ about everything.

Which brings Nick back to this dating thing all over again.

It’s great that Harry is out and proud. Nick is too. He’d be foolish not to, because everyone needs a role model, and he certainly doesn’t make great decisions all the time but when it’s something like this, something that matters, he will stay true to himself until the end of time.

But Harry? Well, he’d do it even if it meant losing his dream career. He’d do it even if it meant risking everything.

When Harry walks in, Nick wraps him into a big hug, because sure, he might be filled with worry and trepidation, but he’s been looking forward to a hug from Harry since the day he interviewed him on the radio. Harry melts into it, his arms around Nick’s waist and his face buried in his neck. He’s taller now, so tall that he’s nearly Nick’s height, and Nick likes it, likes the feeling of Harry fitting against him no matter what point he’s at in his life. Even as Harry grew, they still fit together just as perfectly.

“Missed you,” Harry whispers into Nick’s neck, and Nick shivers at the feeling.

“Missed you too,” Nick replies.

They lean back and then kiss, the gesture practiced and familiar, even though it's been ages since they got to be like this, so cozy and domestic. The radio station almost feels like a dream, the way they got together so easily, right there for all to see.

But the reminder brings Nick back to reality, and he takes Harry’s hand and helps him carry his things back into the flat. Instead of stopping at the guest room, what had been Harry’s room at one point, Nick keeps walking and brings him all the way to his bedroom, setting his things on the side of the room where he’s got a new dresser, one to match his own. “I figured you’d be moving in,” Nick says, recalling when Harry had said during the interview that he actually hasn’t had his own place ever in his life - and still doesn’t.

Harry had offered to find somewhere nearby, but Nick didn’t want Harry to be that far away. Now half the room is his, half the flat is his, and it feels a lot more like the home Nick had always dreamt for himself. Nick opens his mouth to speak, but before he can say a word, Harry tells him, “I want this, no matter what. You and me… this isn’t going to ruin anything.”

It’s creepy, how Harry knew what he was going to say, but Nick likes the familiarity of it, likes that he can’t keep secrets from Harry. He doesn’t particularly want to. He sighs, nods, and confesses softly, “I don’t want this to affect your career. You’ve worked so hard to get to where you’re at. I’m _old_ , remember?”

Harry holds both of Nick’s hands in his and smiles fondly as he says, “Any fan who doesn’t want to see me happy isn’t a true fan. I honestly don’t care what any of them think, if they’re saying anything awful about us at all.” Harry looks so sure, so confident, and maybe he is. Nick sometimes forgets that Harry’s twenty now, that he’s an adult who can judge what’s best for himself. “I love you, Nick.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Nick laments. He rubs the back of Harry’s hands with his thumbs and says, “People are going to say awful, terrible things.”

“I know,” Harry nods. “I’ve seen it. All of it. But like… whatever, okay? I won’t look, and neither should you.”

Nick looks into his eyes, and Harry’s never seen Nick looking so nervous, not even back when he’d dumped Harry that first time they broke up. Harry kisses him softly, hoping to reassure him, and then smiles as he realizes what to do. “Look - I was going to keep this secret until our date this weekend, but like… I think you should hear it now,” he says.

And there’s a lot to process there, because one, Nick hadn’t even known they had a date planned for that weekend, and two, another song written for him or about him might very well do Nick in and actually cause him to cry. He’d never imagined that anyone would write _one_ song about him, never mind at least _three_. He’s still working on figuring out if any others were for him, but that’s a question for another day. Instead, he sits on the bed and watches Harry pull his guitar out of its case. It’s a new one, probably the first of many fancy, expensive guitars Harry’s got for touring, and Nick turns to face Harry, who sits next to him on the bed.

Harry begins to strum a soft, sweet song, and his voice is so tender as he begins to sing.

_I got a heart, and I got a soul,_   
_Believe me I wanna use them both._   
_We made a start, be it a false one I know,_   
_Baby I don’t want to feel alone_

_So kiss me where I lay down,_   
_My hands pressed to your cheeks_   
_A long way from the playground_

It isn’t until the chorus, though, that the words really hit Nick, and he feels his eyes getting wetter as he listens.

_I have loved you since I was eighteen,_   
_Long before we both thought the same thing,_   
_To be loved and to be in love_

_And all I can do is say these arms are made for holding you_   
_I want a love like you made me feel_   
_When I was eighteen._

Nick knows he’s crying, knows it’s totally cliche for him to be crying too, but Harry’s grown so much, and he’s developed, and Nick’s never heard this song before, and it’s all too much to handle. Harry smiles fondly as he sees Nick’s emotions, and he doesn’t stop singing until the song is over.

And if Nick thought he loved Harry before, it’s nothing compared to that moment, when Harry puts his guitar down, and Nick pulls him into a slow, passionate kiss. “God I love you,” Nick whispers into Harry’s mouth, a secret just for the two of them, something Nick’s wanted for ages, felt for ages, but never felt like he truly had until that moment.

Harry holds Nick tight and smiles into the kiss, presses Nick into the bed without ever breaking the kiss, and it’s slow and steady and it’s _perfect_. Nick’s got Harry, and Harry’s got Nick, and they know that nothing will end it this time. They’ve been around the block a few times, had their fair share of ups and downs and heartbreaks, but something about this kiss, this moment, this whole third time reconnecting has them feeling something they’ve never felt before.

And Harry knows that no matter where he is, no matter what he’s doing, as long as he’s got Nick he’s never going to lose sight of what’s important. He’s always going to feel loved, and whole, and like he’s home even when he’s not, and it’s the greatest feeling he’s ever known.

\+ + +

Louis is curled up on the sofa with Zayn and Sara when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. When the vibrating continues, he realizes it’s a call, and he has to slink away so he won’t wake Sara. He rushes down the hall, answering on the last ring, and smiles as he says, “Hey El.”

“Louis, hi,” Eleanor says down the line, glad to have caught him. “Is this a bad time?”

Louis sounds just a bit out of breath, and the last thing she wants to do is interrupt when he’s finally happy, but Louis just says, “No, it’s fine. Zayn, Sara, and I were just watching a movie.”

“Anything exciting?” Eleanor asks, sounding amused.

“No, she’s just been watching _Inside Out_ over and over again,” Louis replies. “I could quote the whole thing, but I’ll spare you.”

Eleanor laughs and Louis settles in on Zayn’s bed, glad to hear from her. She’s been busy finishing up uni, and he hasn’t been back to Manchester since his first visit, so they haven’t gotten to see each other much. They text and send each other Snapchats a lot, but it’s not the same as phone calls. Usually Louis hates them, but with Eleanor - well, he likes hearing her voice. The way she says things tells half the story. “What’s up?” he asks after a moment, curious as to why she’s called.

“I… well, you know I’m graduating soon, yeah?” she starts.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “I want to come. You’ve got to tell me when it is.”

Eleanor laughs, breathless and warm, and says, “Of course. I’ll text you the details when we’re done. It’s in two months.” She pauses before she says, “I got a job.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Eleanor sounds hesitant, worried almost, and Louis thinks he knows why. “It’s in Manchester, isn’t it?” Louis asks. The hesitation before Eleanor says yes is all Louis needs to understand exactly why she’s full of so much trepidation. “It’s alright,” he reassures her. “It’s an excuse for me to come visit, innit? Go to more Man U matches?” Eleanor’s still quiet though, like she’s worried Louis is going to spiral out of control again, and Louis feels it necessary to say, “I’m going to be fine, El. I’m a big boy now.”

That draws a laugh out of her, and Louis feels accomplished for that. She explains that it’s a job in marketing, something for a media company that’s just recently been started but seems to be doing really well, and Louis insists he’s happy for her. And really, he is. Louis just wants her to be happy, even if he wishes she could do it closer to him. Thank god for technology, he thinks. “And you and Max? Still a thing?” he asks, because he’s just nosy like that.

“Yeah,” Eleanor says softly. There’s a tick in her voice and Louis knows more is coming. “I think… well, he asked if maybe I’d want to get a flat. With him. Just the two of us.”

Louis smiles. “Are you going to do it?” he wonders.

“I dunno,” she confesses. “I want to, but like… what if that ruins things? How do you know when it’s time?”

Louis hesitates for a second, because this is new. This isn’t something they’ve explored before, Eleanor turning to Louis for advice rather than Louis turning to Eleanor for everything. Suddenly she needs his help in return and it fills him with pride, with confidence that he hadn’t known he needed. Even though he doesn’t have an answer for her. “Well,” he begins. “I dunno if you ever do, really. I guess you just have to trust yourself and the other person and if it feels right, then do it. Does it feel right?”

“Yeah, it does,” she says. “It really does.”

“Well then you answered your own question.”

The line is quiet for a minute, and Eleanor sounds nearly tearful when she says, “I’m so proud of you Louis.”

Louis’s jaw drops and he doesn’t know what to say. Naturally, he turns to sarcasm. “What’s there to be proud of?” he scoffs.

“Stop that,” Eleanor chides, and she sniffles, and _fuck_ , Louis thinks, _she really is crying_. “I mean it. Look at where you’re at now. Look at that compared to three years ago and everything in between. Some nights I used to worry that you’d do something so stupid you’d end up _dead_ , and now you’re raising a child with your boyfriend and you’re living with him like it’s no big deal, and you’ve got a full time job, and you’re out on your own, and… I wanted you to get to this point _so badly_ , and you’ve done it. I’m so incredibly proud, Louis.”

Louis rubs his hand over his face, presses his fingers to the corners of his eyes, and tries not to get choked up because well - when she puts it _that_ way. Yeah, he was a mess. He was an absolute wreck. Even Louis didn’t think he’d get to the point he’s at. And speaking of jobs - “I got promoted,” he blurts out, because it’s better than letting her know he’s getting emotional and sentimental in return. He might have grown up, but he’s not _that_ mature. “The manager - he’s training me to take over when he retires next summer. I’m like, gonna have a proper job. I’ll be a manager of summat, can you imagine?”

“I can, yeah,” Eleanor says, and he can hear her smile over the phone.

“You know, though, I haven’t moved out on my own yet. I just… sometimes bunk at Zayn’s is all,” he corrects her. He thinks if he can stall her from returning to the emotional topic the better, because then he won’t get so choked up, either.

Eleanor laughs. “Whatever you say, Louis. You basically live there.”

“Do not!” Louis protests.

“I meant what I said, Louis. You can try to avoid it all you want, but I’m still proud of you.”

“Well…” Louis stammers. He doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know how to process that sort of thing because it’s not something he hears often. “Thanks.”

After Louis acknowledges her compliment, she lets it go, and Eleanor then turns the subject to Louis’s new job, and then to Liam and Sophia’s engagement, and Louis makes her promise to come back to Colchester to visit at least once _before_ the wedding. She promises to come back and visit, and confides in him that Sophia’s asked her to be Maid of Honor. Louis grins and explains that he’s the Best Man, and they’ll be dealing a lot with each other in the coming years.

The call ends after that, and by the time Louis trudges back out to the lounge, the flat is mostly dark, save for the lamp in the corner. “Hey,” Louis says, noticing that Zayn’s put Sara to bed. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing really,” Zayn shrugs. “Sara’s in bed, and that fucking movie is off, _finally_. Think we should chuck it in the bin?”

“ _Please_ ,” Louis begs. “I will pay you.”

Zayn laughs and throws it across the room, at the bin stood in the doorway to the kitchen. He misses, but Louis happily wanders over to chuck it in the bin for real. “I love your daughter, but we have _got_ to get her hooked on a different film,” Louis says.

“Yeah, we do,” Zayn agrees, and stands up to switch off the lamp. It’s not even that late, but sometimes the two of them go down the hall and lay in bed, either playing xbox or watching the telly or just making out like they’re teenagers again.

Louis locks the door and follows Zayn down the hall, and it’s such a routine now that Louis sort of gets why Eleanor says he’s moved in. He’s there so often they have a _routine_. Louis tends to avoid routines like the plague, on principle. He can’t be predictable because then he loses his edge, his chance to surprise people.

It doesn’t really count here, though.

He kicks off his sweatpants and climbs into bed in nothing but his pants and vest that he’s been wearing since the day before, and Zayn does the same. “What’ll it be tonight?” Louis asks, shaking the xbox controller in one hand and the TV remote in the other.

“Don’t really feel like it,” Zayn admits.

Louis raises an eyebrow and studies Zayn for a minute before he concedes and puts them both back on the bedside table. Zayn’s curling up under the covers before Louis even has them set down, and something feels off. “What’s wrong?” Louis asks.

“Nothing’s wrong, don’t be an idiot.” Zayn’s hair is crumpled in seconds thanks to the pillow, and he pulls the navy duvet up over his shoulder as he rolls onto his side, facing Louis. He looks up at him in the dim light of the table lamp and earnestly repeats, “Nothing’s wrong.”

The look on his face says he’s telling the truth, but Louis senses that something’s up so he switches off the lamp and curls up under the blankets. Because that’s what he does when Zayn doesn’t want to talk. They go to bed.

But the suspense is killing him.

“God, Zayn, just tell me what’s on your fucking mind,” Louis says, kicking Zayn’s shin under the blankets.

Zayn mutters a curse under his breath and then says, “Nothing’s _wrong_ , I’ve just been thinking. Christ. Don’t get so violent.”

Louis rolls on his side to look at Zayn, a great big smile on his face, and Zayn really wants to punch that look off Louis’s face because it’s a look that says he’s just won something. Which he hasn’t. He absolutely hasn’t. (He always does.) “It’s just - you’re here a lot,” Zayn begins lamely. He winces. “And that’s not a bad thing,” he promises. “Was thinking you could just do it for real. Like, move in or whatever.”

Louis narrows his eyes. “You heard me talking to Eleanor, didn’t you?”

“It’s nothing I hadn’t thought about already,” Zayn says. “Don’t be a prick.”

But Louis is grinning like the fucking Joker and it’s a little creepy in the darkness, and Zayn doesn’t like it. “Just - whatever you wanna do, okay? No pressure.” He sounds almost self-conscious or something, like he’s worried Louis might legitimately refuse, might not come round as much now that he’s offered.

Louis leans in over the distance between their pillows and kisses Zayn. “Don’t be daft, of course I will. Can’t be twenty-three and still living with me mum, can I?” Louis laughs.

Zayn’s eyes are fierce and he doesn’t break his gaze with Louis as he says, “Be serious for a moment, Louis. This - this is going to change things, alright?”

“I’ll pay rent, it’s fine,” Louis insists, clueless about anything else Zayn could be thinking.

“I’m not worried about that,” Zayn says, frowning. He watches Louis for a minute and says, “I mean Sara. This… changes things for her. What if she starts calling you dad, too?”

“So we teach her I’m Louis.”

Zayn sighs. “And if I don’t want you to do that?” He’s putting himself out there and his chest tightens as he watches Louis realize. It dawns on him all at once, his mouth going wide in a surprised _oh_ and his eyes opening like saucers, his eyebrows shooting up into his fringe. He’s speechless, gaping at Zayn, and this could go one of two ways.

“She - Perrie, I - ,” Louis stammers.

“I’ve talked to her about it. And like, kids have four parents all the time, yeah? Three or four or whatever?” Zayn says. “Like, she’ll know me and Pez had her, but… I dunno. Like, you’re basically doing it all already. Why not have the title?” He’s trying to be casual, trying to make it sound like no big deal, but it is. This is his daughter.

“I just need to know this means you’re not leaving.”

Louis studies Zayn for a minute, his features even clearer now that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness. Louis rolls his eyes and tugs at Zayn, puts his arms around his shoulders and makes him cuddle up to his chest. “C’mon Zayn, seriously?” he asks. “Look at me. I adore children. I very well might love her more than I love you, you know.”

It hits them both then, like running head-on into a glacier, that the word _love_ has just been said, and god, it should feel scarier. Louis thinks it should definitely feel scarier, and Zayn - it knocks the air right out of his lungs. It’s a vulnerable place to be in, and Louis doesn’t like it, having said the words without decorum, without even really realizing it, and now that Zayn’s speechless he doesn’t know what to think.

“I love you, too.”

Louis looks at Zayn, who’s looking back at him, and their limbs are tangled and they smell mostly like sweat now that the day’s done, and their hair's a mess, and yet at the same time, it all seems like the perfect time to be making such declarations. Louis grins, trying to lighten the mood, and says, “Of course you do, I’m incredibly lovable, just like your daughter. Now _you_ , on the other hand…” He smirks.

Zayn looks affronted, but Louis kisses the look right off his face.

The conversation got way too serious, way too deep for the two of them, because who needs words, really? Louis feels ridiculous every time he tries to voice how he feels, so he usually just doesn’t. There’s no reason to, not when Zayn knows, not when he understands without words. That’s the beauty of it - Zayn reads others as well as Louis does, and he’s so expressive, so obvious about everything, and they both are, when it comes down to it, because they know the language of each other. They understand each other and see what nobody else does.

It’s why they work, and why they continue to work, even when Louis’s dirty clothes are on double the surfaces now that he’s moved in. Even when Sara calls him Pa and Louis’s eyes get wet. Even when Zayn’s art supplies end up mashed into the carpet because Sara got loose in the flat whilst Louis and Zayn were snogging in the kitchen.

Even when everyone around them was taking the next step and getting married except for them.

Louis doesn’t mind so much, being left behind. Not anymore.

\+ + +

It’s not surprising to Bressie, hearing Niall get in late. He always does now - his hours in the paediatrics center at the hospital are unpredictable at best, and Niall’s too dedicated to ask for a break. This is the most driven he’s ever seen him, seeing as he’s mere weeks away from graduation, and he doesn’t want to discourage Niall from doing well for himself. He’s already helped him through one bout of severe self-doubt. He’d rather like not having to do it again.

Half-asleep and sure that Niall’s going to go straight to bed, Bressie rolls over and lets himself drift back to sleep. He feels pathetic, curled up in bed so early on a Friday night when the rest of their housemates are out at the bars, but going places without Niall isn’t very fun. Everyone else is paired off - he’s the odd one out every time.

He wakes again not long after when he feels the weight of someone climbing into bed next to him. Niall smells fresh, like a shower, but he doesn’t smell like usual - he smells like Bressie’s shampoo. He can’t fight a smile as Niall slides closer to him. “Hi,” he says, voice groggy and low.

Niall’s quiet - too quiet - and climbs impossibly closer to Bressie until he’s nestled in his arms, against his chest, surrounded by his warmth. He feels tense and Bressie can tell something’s up. “Babe, what is it?” he asks, growing more worried by the second.

Then Niall sniffles and Bressie’s wide awake, because that’s not good. That’s _never_ good.

Bressie rolls on his side, pressing his body closer to Niall’s, like he’s trying to protect every inch of him from the outside world. “What happened?” he whispers.

His hands run up and down Niall’s back, rubbing soothing circles as he inches his fingers under his shirt. Niall’s bare skin is hot and sticky - he’s definitely fresh out of the shower - and he buries little kisses in Niall’s damp hair, reminding him that he’s going to be okay. Niall sniffles again and this time he feels wetness on his shirt. Niall’s full on crying and Bressie has no idea how to help.

“Today… there was a kid in,” Niall explains. His voice sounds the thinnest and weakest Bressie’s ever heard it. “We were doing usual tests, you know? To like… get him some antibiotics. Help him.”

“As you do,” Bressie nods, kissing Niall’s forehead again. He doesn’t press for more - Niall needs to talk it through on his own terms.

“It wasn’t that simple,” Niall sobs. He grips the front of Bressie’s shirt in his hands and shakes his head. “I had to… like, the doctor had an emergency patient. We got the diagnosis, but like… _I_ had to deliver the news. The fucking…” he shakes his head, wiping his tears into the fabric between them.

Bressie doesn’t push it, doesn’t ask what happened, because he’s heard all sorts of stories from Niall about the hospital and never once has he reacted this way. There’s really only one thing that could have happened. “I’m so sorry, love,” Bressie whispers. “You shouldn’t have had to do that. That’s really shit.”

Niall wipes his eyes on Bressie’s shirt and shakes his head. “If you think I’m bad, you should’ve seen the kids’ parents. They were _devastated_. I’ve never seen someone go from okay to sobbing so fucking fast. And like, the kid - he’s got no idea. Not a fucking _clue_ that he’s - that…” Niall chokes on a sob. “I… I never want to do that again.”

He’ll have to though, sometime in the future, Bressie’s sure of it. Niall went into this field knowing what it entails, and he’s got to get a thick skin. It’s heartbreaking to think about it, though, Niall sitting down to tell parents of a small child that their kid is terminally ill. The thought of it makes him feel sick; he can’t imagine the emotions running through Niall in that moment. “It’s alright, baby,” Bressie whispers. He wishes he could do more, but he knows there’s nothing else to do. “Just cry.”

And Niall does. He cries for so long, Bressie’s surprised he’s got any tears left. Even when he feels tired and finally ready to sleep, Bressie stays awake. Niall needs him. They lie awake for hours, Niall wavering between periods of tears and periods of dead silence. By the time they hear their housemates arriving around three in the morning, Niall looks absolutely exhausted. “D’you work tomorrow?” Bressie asks softly.

“Thank fuck, no,” Niall says hoarsely. He wipes at his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I feel like I can’t face those parents ever again.”

Hesitantly, Bressie asks, “Will you have to?”

Niall shakes his head and rolls onto his back, their arms pressed together. The air of the room feels cold and makes him shiver. He stares up at the ceiling and says, “I don’t think so. They’re being moved to the oncology ward, I think. I didn’t look. I had to go like… get it together.”

Bressie nods. He doesn’t want to push it; he knows Niall tries so hard to be professional. “Tomorrow we’ll go out,” Bressie says softly. “Just you and me. Maybe we’ll go to a match or something.”

“Who’s playing?” Niall wonders.

Bressie shrugs, rolling to lie on his back just as Niall’s doing. Their hands meet in the middle and their fingers intertwine as they’ve done a thousand times before. “I dunno,” Bressie admits. “I’d watch anyone just for a nice getaway, to take your mind off things.”

“It’s been awhile since we’ve had a date, hasn’t it?”

Niall’s so blunt and Bressie feels bad - it’s true, it _has_ been a while - but that’s not why he was asking. “I haven’t been keeping track,” he lies. “We’re both busy, so I figured we could take advantage of both of us having a day off tomorrow.”

It’s so quiet that Bressie wonders if Niall’s fallen asleep, but then he hears a sigh and knows that he’s still awake, considering it. “I’m sorry I get so busy with work,” he says softly. “And then I come home a wreck, and… I’m the _worst_ person.”

“No you’re not, baby,” Bressie insists, rolling back onto his side. He props his head up on his elbow and drops his other hand to Niall’s tummy, tracing little lines into the skin there and over his hips. “You’re in your final year of paediatrics and you’re fucking good at what you do. You work hard and then you come home to me, and I’d be a fool if I faulted you for that. There’s absolutely nothing to apologize for, I promise,” he says fiercely.

He dips his head to try to get in Niall’s line of sight, to catch his attention. Their eyes lock and Niall looks so worried, and his eyes are so puffy, and he’s a pitiful mess but Bressie thinks he’s never been so in love before. “We’re good, Ni. We’re wonderful. _You’re_ wonderful. And soon you won’t have uni to worry about, just work, and honestly - I don’t care what your hours are at work as long as you’re coming home to me,” he says, his voice confident and sure.

Niall’s lower lip starts shaking again - it’s been an emotionally draining night - but he leans up for a kiss before he allows any tears to fall. He’s never felt so grateful for anyone or anything in his entire life. Bressie’s so understanding, so sweet - and fuck if he doesn’t make Niall feel like the most loved man in all of the UK. He reaches up, holds Bressie at the back of his neck as they kiss, and he pours as much love and thanks into the kiss as he can possibly muster.

They break away for air and Bressie looks down into Niall’s eyes, sparkling blue and puffy from crying and droopy from exhaustion, and he smiles. “I love you,” he reminds Niall.

“Love you, too,” Niall whispers back.

He looks so overwhelmed and so totally wiped out, and as much as Bressie wishes he could stay up all night kissing Niall and reminding him how loved he is, he knows Niall needs his sleep. “Get some rest, love,” he whispers. “Sleep it off.”

Niall nods, so grateful for how understanding Bressie is, and kisses him softly one last time. He rolls on his side, facing away from him, and Bressie smiles. This is his favourite way to end the night, with Niall curled up in front of him and ready for cuddles. Bressie fits in neatly behind Niall - head to toe their proportions seem so perfect. He bends his knees behind Niall’s, wraps his arms around his waist, and his forehead rests on Niall’s shoulder as they curl up, spooned in bed, sleep coming easily after.

When Bressie wakes up, the sun is high in the sky and there’s a pleasant buzz of people out on the sidewalks outside. It’s nearly half past noon, he notes, but makes no effort to get up and out of bed. It was an exhausting night, physically and emotionally, plus Niall’s still asleep in his arms and he doesn’t want to disturb him. He finds Niall’s hand and laces their fingers together and he curls up behind him closer. They fit so well together that sometimes Bressie feels like it’s too good to be true.

Niall wakes not long after, blinking his eyes open as sunlight streams through the window behind them. It hits the wall, reflects just right so nothing’s in their eyes, and he smiles. It’s nice, waking up like this in Bressie’s bed, warm in his arms. He looks down at their hands, where Bressie’s got his left hand covering Niall’s, fingers threaded together. He finds himself realizing that there’s no place he’d rather wake up - that he’d be happy if this was how he woke up for the rest of his life.

Bressie’s sweet and understanding - he wasn’t at first, being so unfamiliar with the hours of a paediatrics nurse - but it came with time and now he’s endlessly grateful. The late hours will eventually turn into something more normal, but now they’re past arguing about it and moved on to being used to it. They find time for each other, they get satisfaction from the little things, and Niall’s pretty sure guys like Bressie are one in a million. It takes a special kind of patience to be with someone whose life is as chaotic and unpredictable as Niall’s. _I don’t care what your hours are at work as long as you’re coming home to me_ , Bressie had said last night. The words echo in Niall’s head like he’s just heard them, and that’s when he realizes.

“I want to marry you.”

He blurts it out without decorum, without any buildup or warning, but it’s true. Niall means every word. He can’t imagine a life without Bressie in it. Bressie’s grip tightens around Niall’s body, pulling him close, and he feels a kiss on his shoulder. “Yeah?” Bressie asks, voice hoarse from sleep. “That’s good,” he smiles. “Because I sort of really want that too, love.”

Bressie’s actually been thinking about it a lot, lately. He’s eyed up rings, but nothing has seemed perfect yet. He knows Niall’s the one. It’s been in the back of his mind for some time now, along with proposal ideas and budgets for rings, and even a few suggestions for where to get married - he just wanted to wait for the right time in Niall’s crazy, busy life. Apparently that time is now, in bed, after a particularly stressful night. Bressie will take it.

Niall rolls over in bed to lie on his back, and he’s smiling up at Bressie, who stays on his side to look down at him. “Yeah?” Niall asks, his voice rough from his crying fit the night before. “You… really?” It sounds like he can’t even believe it - Bressie thinks it’s adorable.

“Of course,” he says confidently. “Been thinking about it for a while, actually.”

The sun outside is bright, streaming in through the window, but it’s nothing compared to how Niall’s face lights up as he realizes it: they’re engaged. They’re going to get married and spend every day of the rest of their lives together. That he’s not alone in this crazy, emotional life he’s created for himself. “Well… _fuck_ ,” Niall laughs, because he can’t think of anything else to say. He’s speechless. He brought it up, yet it’s more than he can comprehend, hearing Bressie say he wants it too.

Niall brings him down into a kiss, hand at the back of his neck, tangling into Bressie’s dark hair. They laugh as Bressie loses his balance and lands on Niall, his weight pressing Niall into the mattress in that warm, comforting way he likes. “Maybe before the match today we should get some rings? Make it proper official?” Bressie whispers into Niall’s mouth, his voice thrumming with excitement.

That draws a laugh out of Niall, something sweet and lighthearted, and it’s a relief to hear given how stressful work has been for him lately. “Yeah,” he nods, bumping their noses together as Bressie settles between his legs properly climbing above him. “Yeah, we should,” he nods, pulling Bressie into another deep, warm kiss.

And if Niall’s hand shakes the whole time he signs his name, then he’s glad Bressie doesn’t comment on it. He’s nervous, but only because it’s the biggest leap he’s ever taken, the craziest thing he’s ever done, going down to get married in the mid-afternoon, nobody around except the two of them, a shiny new piece of metal around his left ring finger. And sure, it might take a while for it to be legal, what with the two of them wanting to marry in Ireland, where they’re from, but really, nothing will change save for a few pieces of paper. The rings still leave Niall feeling more excited, more ecstatic, more _alive_ than he’s felt in a very long time.

\+ + +

Two Years Later

Sophia’s sitting in her bridal suite, the room full of warm July sunlight, staring at her reflection in the mirror. They’re at Prested Hall, the very same place her own parents got married, only now it’s her turn. Her hands are shaking though she has no reason to be nervous, not really, because she’s marrying her best friend, the love of her life, the man who has plans to build them a future - quite literally. Shortly after their wedding, they’ll be moving into a new house - or rather, an old one, a fixer-upper - where Liam will put his construction skills to work and build them their dream home, one room at a time. She thinks about it, imagines the two of them growing old together, of what this house could look like one day, of little kids in the yard and bright sunny mornings like this one, lazy in their bedroom.

“Soph?”

Eleanor’s voice pulls Sophia from her thoughts and she looks over at Eleanor through the glass of the mirror. Without a word, Eleanor offers Sophia a glass of water, and she takes it gratefully. Her hands are shaking and she’s worried she’ll mess up her lipstick, but she needs the water, needs to calm down just a hair. It’s just that the day is so important, is all.

Eleanor shuffles her rose pink dress as she sits down, pulling the skirt around her knees, and reaches out for the jewelry sitting on the vanity. She clasps Sophia’s mum’s diamond bracelet around her wrists and then reaches for the earrings - dangling, sparkling diamonds that hang by a few loose curls, the rest of her hair tied back in a dignified bun at the back of her head. Gently Eleanor eases the earrings into Sophia’s ears and says, “It’ll all be perfect, I promise.”

She’s good at this role, of reassuring others, of taking care of them, and she’s glad Sophia picked her to help as Maid of Honor. The closer the wedding got, the more worried Sophia became, and Eleanor was there every step of the way, for dozens of Facetime calls and emails back and forth with vendors. The day had to be perfect. It had to be. And it would be, of that Eleanor was sure.

Sophia nods and looks at her reflection again. Eleanor’s just pinning in a little baby’s breath bouquet above the bun at the back of Sophia’s head when there’s a knock at the door. Louis pokes his head in and asks, “Am I safe to come in?”

“Sure,” Eleanor says, and Sophia’s still in her bathrobe, but she’s got a few minutes still - just a few more.

“Just came to see how you ladies were doing,” Louis says softly as he walks in. He smiles warmly at Sophia and tells her, “You look amazing. What a _brilliant_ wedding dress.”

She laughs, loud and raucous, and the tension disappears from her whole body. Still wearing her bathrobe, she must look a sight. Louis hugs her, takes care not to mess up her makeup or her hair, and says, “He might have a heart attack up there, seeing you all dressed up like this.”

Sophia blushes and feels relief all through her body. Eleanor’s at her side supporting her and Louis is right there telling jokes, and it feels like it’ll be okay. “You look good, too,” she observes, nodding to Louis’s sleek navy blue suit and the way he’s gotten his hair cut especially for the wedding. He’s combed it back and everything.

He looks better, now. He might’ve gained just a bit of weight, but he looks healthy - there’s colour back in his skin and happiness is back in his eyes, sparkling every time he looks at her, and Sophia’s so glad they don’t have to worry about Louis anymore, that he’s got his head on straight. And now he’s here, dressed to the nines and comforting Sophia on one of the most important days of her life, and she’s grateful to have him. She’s grateful they never lost him, like she’d worried about at one point.

“I just came to tell you ladies that we need you downstairs in fifteen minutes,” Louis says. He checks his watch and says, “Well - thirteen now, if we’re being technical, but that’s not my fault. This place is huge!”

It’s really not, but it _is_ fancy, an old vintage home that they’ve rented for the day, with a gazebo outside for the ceremony and a marquee for the dinner party and dance at dusk. The weather held up - something Sophia had been massively worried about - and the whole day has come together like a dream. “Oh god, I have to get into my dress,” Sophia mutters when she registers how much time she’s got left.

“It’s alright,” Eleanor reassures her. She smiles at Louis and says, “We’ll be there in ten, promise.”

Louis nods. “Need any help? I could nick you a Pimms if you wanted, or something straight? I saw those little mini bottles of liquor on a cart somewhere…”

“We don’t need alcohol,” Eleanor says as she rolls her eyes. “Just make sure the bouquets are by the door and that everyone is seated where they’re supposed to be.” Eleanor begins to unzip the dress from its garment bag as she adds, “And make sure Sara hasn’t stained her dress. I saw you giving her a carton of Ribena earlier!”

Sara is the flower girl for the wedding, and Louis and Zayn, like total fools, had put her in her white dress _hours _ago. Being nearly four, she’s prone to making messes - lots of messes - messes that had better not end up on her white flower girl dress. “She’s fine!” Louis says, like he’s heard this a million times.__

__He has, but that’s besides the point._ _

__Louis leaves the room with a farewell wave, and Eleanor turns her full attention to Sophia, who looks like she’s trying incredibly hard not to chew on her fancy new manicure. “Everything is fine,” Eleanor repeats again, smiling. She pulls the dress out of the bag and Sophia’s whole face lights up._ _

__Eleanor helps her into it, the most beautiful dress either of them have ever seen, with dozens of tulle skirting layers hidden under a beautiful lacy sheen fabric, one that goes up over the plain white strapless bodice, wrapping up over her shoulders and chest, and disappearing in a V on her back. The high neck in the front means she’s gone without a necklace, and in the back her skin looks tanned and flawless. It’s a gorgeous gown, and Sophia runs her hands over the front, smoothing over the lace that drapes past her waist as Eleanor ties the cream coloured lace sash at her back. The gown is long and has a train in the back, so now is the part where Sophia becomes afraid to move._ _

__“You look perfect,” Eleanor repeats, smiling as she peeks over Sophia’s shoulder._ _

__Sophia smiles, and the photographer peeks in. He snaps a photo at the perfect moment, with the sunlight streaming in through the window and Sophia’s face so full of joy, her eyes wet at the thought of what’s to come in just a few minutes. She gently sits down so Eleanor can fasten the strap on her high heels for her, because the dress is too voluminous to reach over, and then it’s time._ _

__“Let’s go,” Eleanor smiles, offering her hand to Sophia._ _

__Sophia takes a deep breath and nods. She moves slowly, holding the dress daintily in one of her hands, and tries her best to walk without stepping on the dress, all the way out of the bridal suite and down the stairs._ _

__Waiting for them at the foot of the stairs are Louis, Zayn, and Sara. Sara gets the most excited to see them, hopping around on her little feet and waving like mad. Her dress is spotless, though her hair’s already fallen out of the bun she had to match Sophia, but things could be worse. It only gives Sophia the faintest of heart attacks. Then she focuses back on reaching the landing safely. Sophia’s parents engulf her in hugs as Eleanor steps off to the side. Louis hugs Eleanor, and then she goes in for a hug with Zayn, and she asks, “Does Sara know what to do?”_ _

__“We practiced all night, didn’t we love?” Zayn asks Sara._ _

__Sara nods, preening at how pleased everyone seems to be with her, that she’d walk up and down their hotel room dropping flower petals. She got a fair amount of sweets just for doing it, and she’s going to do it all day if she has to. She’s got her basket with flower petals and asks, “Now?”_ _

__“Not quite yet,” Louis says, patting her wispy hair out of her face. “Soon.”_ _

__She looks troubled but listens, leaning her head against his thigh as she waits for more instructions. There’s music playing in the garden, in the direction of the gazebo, and Louis gives Sara a kiss, and then Zayn, and then nods to Eleanor and Sophia before going outside to bring Liam to the altar, to quell his nerves and get him ready to see Sophia looking so stunning._ _

__“Is she alright?” Liam asks in a hushed whisper as Louis leads him up front._ _

__The music is playing and all their friends and family are seated in two aisles leading up to the gazebo, and the sunlight is streaming down on them. It’s literally the day Liam dreamed of for this. “Yeah, she’s great,” Louis promises. “She’s in good hands, with Eleanor.”_ _

__“And Sara hasn’t gotten her dress dirty?”_ _

__If it wasn’t Liam’s wedding day, Louis would probably only smack Liam square in the chest in response. But it’s his wedding day, and he’s nervous, so he figures for once he ought to be nice. “No, she hasn’t gotten her dress dirty,” he insists. “Now settle in. It’s time for you to marry your dream girl.”_ _

__Louis smiles at Liam, who pulls him into a big bear hug. Louis feels the nervousness, the anxiety, but he also feels the happiness radiating throughout Liam’s whole body. This is the day he’s always wished for Liam to have; Louis has only ever wanted his friends to be happy. More than he wanted his own happiness, even. Louis pats his back and lets the hug last a second longer before he pushes at Liam’s shoulder and says, “It’s time.”_ _

__Liam takes a deep breath, looking stunning and dapper in his black suit, and he fusses with the buttons on his jacket before he stands in place. He wants to fidget, but instead he brings his hands together in front of him and clasps them, waiting as everyone settles in. The band has stopped, ready to play the processional, and Louis stands at his side in solid support. Louis worries that Liam might actually pass out, both from nervousness and relief when he sees her, sees how beautiful his bride looks._ _

__Sara goes first, walking down the aisle with Zayn at her side, giggling as she throws little handfuls of flower petals on the white runner going down the centre of the seats. Zayn steers her back toward center every once in awhile, when she gets distracted by seeing Harry and Nick in the audience, and when they reach the front, she waves happily at Liam. Liam waves at her with a smile for one very brief second before Eleanor passes him by and then he can see her. He can see Sophia._ _

__Sophia walks out onto the grounds, her arm through her father’s, and she looks like something out of a fairy tale. Her bracelet and earrings are shining in the sun and the white of her dress makes her look like royalty. Her skin is tanned just so and the curls of her hair frame her face and she’s beaming, and Liam can see the quiver in her lower lip at the sight of him, and he feels like he might fall over. The music starts, though he barely hears it; all he can focus on is Sophia, eyes sparkling and focused right on him. She’s so beautiful it knocks the breath right out of him._ _

__The ceremony is beautiful. Liam’s parents cry, Sophia’s parents cry, Eleanor cries, Sara cries - the only difference is, Sara cries because she’s bored and a little tired; everyone else is caught up in the emotion of the day. Sophia is beaming, the stronger of the two, and Liam gets a little choked up when he says his vows and then says ‘I do.’ He can’t take his eyes off of Sophia, who can’t take her eyes off of Liam, and when they’re told they can kiss, and announced as Mr. and Mrs. Liam Payne, the whole crowd erupts with cheers. Liam slides his hand around Sophia’s waist, big and warm and settling right on the small of her back where the lace parts ways to go up over her shoulders, her smooth skin bare under the palm of his hand. She holds his biceps and he dips her a little as he leans in for a kiss, Sophia smiling against his own smile, the kiss perfect and not as chaste as anyone would have expected, save for maybe Louis._ _

__Liam takes Sophia’s hand and Eleanor offers back her bouquet as recessional music begins. Liam and Sophia walk back down the aisle, past all their cheering family members, beaming brighter than anyone’s ever seen them before._ _

__They’re whisked off to the marquee where they greet everyone walking into the tent, the sun starting to set already. The fairy lights are twinkling and Sara’s having a strop, and poor Zayn’s trying desperately to calm her down. It’s only once Harry scoops her up and cradles him to his chest that she settles, and Louis narrows his eyes at Harry because _he’s_ supposed to be the baby whisperer, not Harry. In the end, he’s just thankful that Sara’s not throwing a fit anymore._ _

__“I’m surprised you didn’t bring Max with you,” Louis says, sneaking up behind Eleanor where she’s setting Sophia’s bouquet in a vase near her space at the head table._ _

__Eleanor jumps out of her skin before she turns around, hand to her chest, and says, “Don’t sneak up on me!” Louis just raises an eyebrow. “He’s got to work this weekend, couldn’t get out of it,” she explains. “He’s sent a gift, but… we’re not at that point yet, I think.”_ _

__“Really? After years?” Louis asks. “After moving in together?”_ _

__“Well… That fell through. He was in Paris last year,” Eleanor shrugs. “He’s got this whole modeling thing going on right now. And it’s great.”_ _

__“But you miss him.”_ _

__Eleanor frowns and nods. Louis smirks and says, “Good thing you’ve got a best friend like me, yeah? To give him the shovel talk and all that. And, y’know, to make sure he doesn’t fuck up too badly.”_ _

__Eleanor raises an eyebrow and asks, “What are you on about?”_ _

__Louis just smirks. Eleanor feels a tap on her shoulder and spins around, and right there, tall and lanky and handsome as hell, is Max. Louis gets stuff done, even if sometimes he seems a bit lazy. And he most definitely isn’t going to let Eleanor’s boyfriend miss this - he’s her _serious _boyfriend, whether she’ll say it out loud or not. And he’s mad about her, this Louis has made sure of, because he doesn’t want Eleanor to be led on.___ _

____Her whole face lights up in surprise, and she just stares for a minute before pulling him into a hug. He’s smiling brightly, kissing her on the cheek, and says, “You really thought I’d miss this?”_ _ _ _

____Louis watches one second further, to be sure Max doesn’t let on that Louis has threatened a number of very painful punishments if he hurts her, and then walks away to let them share their moment._ _ _ _

____Pleased with himself, he sits down at a table with Zayn, Harry, Nick, and Sara. There’s wine already being served, and he helps himself to a glass. Sara’s fast asleep, drooping like a little rag doll over Harry’s front. She’s not as small as she once was, but Harry’s tall and he’s more built now, so he doesn’t look dwarfed underneath her. He looks good with kids, though they know kids are a long way off for him. Harry’s in the prime of his career._ _ _ _

____“What did I miss?” Louis asks, interrupting without bothering to wait for an opening in the conversation._ _ _ _

____Zayn shoots him a look saying he noticed, and that was rude, but Harry and Nick both go unsurprised by it. “We were just talking about Harry’s next tour,” Zayn says._ _ _ _

____“Tour, huh? UK and Ireland again?” Louis asks._ _ _ _

____Harry grins, his eyes bright, and shakes his head. “I’m going to America. I’m spending the whole of July, August, and September over there before finishing with a UK and Ireland stretch before Christmas,” Harry explains._ _ _ _

____“Wow,” Louis nods, clearly impressed._ _ _ _

____“You forgot the rest of it,” Nick says, but he looks like he’s telling a joke, or like he’s heard this a million times before._ _ _ _

____“I wasn’t done,” Harry banters back, and yeah, Louis can see how these two work so well together. Harry looks back across the table at Louis and says, “I’ve got a European tour starting in January, and that’ll go for months, too. It’s insane. I can’t believe so many people want to hear me sing.”_ _ _ _

____Louis shrugs and says, “I’m not surprised. You’re very talented. I’ve always known, since the day we met.”_ _ _ _

____Harry smiles and Nick snorts, because they hadn’t known Harry wanted to do this professionally when Harry had first moved there; it took him months to even admit he wrote music and liked to perform it. But Nick lets Louis have this, doesn’t dare bring up an argument even in play, because this is a big day, something important, and neither of them want to fuck it up. “And Nick? You’ll just be stuck in London?” Louis asks._ _ _ _

____“I’ll go visit now and again, depending on where he’s at. We’re spending a week in New York together before the tour kicks off at bloody Madison Square Garden,” Nick says, clearly impressed with Harry’s performance venue. “I wouldn’t miss that show for the world.”_ _ _ _

____Louis’s eyes go wide, because - well - that _is_ huge. That’s making it, playing at MSG. It’s hard for him to believe, but at the same time, it makes perfect sense, because Harry is so, so talented, and he’s clearly got a charisma that makes him the ideal pop star. Everybody on earth loves him, Louis would wager. Like, literally everyone. “Wow, congratulations,” Zayn says, looking at Harry almost like he’s just been placed in front of one of his idols. “Proper celebrity, you are.”_ _ _ _

____“You’re not going to have any paps hunting you down out here, are you?” Louis asks, suddenly full of genuine concern that the whole wedding could be fucked up._ _ _ _

____Harry shakes his head. “I spoke to Liam about it, asked if we could have a few of my security men out by the entrance, keeping out anyone other than the guests,” Harry says. “He’s said it’s alright, so no paps are allowed in. Promise.”_ _ _ _

____“Good,” Louis says, and he smiles at Harry because he’s missed this, missed him, and he’s glad to get some time with him again. “Are you singing tonight?” he asks curiously._ _ _ _

____“No,” Harry shakes his head. “I’d offered, but Liam says I need a night off, and that they’d just hire a DJ and play a few of my songs instead. I even offered to write him something special for him to sing to Sophia, but he turned me down.”_ _ _ _

____“Liam can sing?” Zayn asks, surprised._ _ _ _

____Louis knows he can, has heard Liam in the shower a number of times, but just smiles fondly knowing Liam’s just as shy as he is about singing in front of other people. “He can, but he’s not like, making a _thing_ of it like I did,” Harry says, smiling. “He’s really good, too. I asked him if he’d come in and do a song with me, or backing vocals, but he’s just not into it. He wants to focus on his carpentry. He said something about a new house?”_ _ _ _

____Louis nods. “Yeah, he’s just bought this old farmhouse not that far from here. It looks like shit, actually, but he says he’s going to fix it up. Room by room or summat like that,” he explains._ _ _ _

____“Speaking of, how long do you think it’ll be before he starts in on a nursery?” Nick asks, and he means it as a joke, but Louis sits up straighter in his chair because he’s been thinking about this, and he thinks Nick’s got a point._ _ _ _

____“You joke,” Louis says, shaking a finger at Nick, “But Zayn and I have already placed bets on this. I think there’ll be a wedding night baby. Zayn here thinks they’ll wait a few months, have a baby around their one year anniversary.”_ _ _ _

____“You guys want in? Fifty pounds per person,” Zayn says._ _ _ _

____Nick whistles, his eyebrows shooting up. “Oh shut it,” Louis rolls his eyes. “That’s pocket change for you guys. Now, name your bet and hand over your wager.”_ _ _ _

____“I think they’ll wait to make the baby until their one year anniversary,” Nick says, fumbling around in his wallet for some money. He slaps it down on the table and then they all look at Harry. Harry just grins and eyes Liam and Sophia for a moment before he says, “I think they’ve already made the baby.” His eyes linger on Liam and Sophia as they walk into the marquee, all the guests finally greeted, and then he drags his eyes away to focus on getting his money out of his trousers without waking Sara._ _ _ _

____He hands over his share and Louis snickers. “Already? No way. They’re too traditional for that.”_ _ _ _

____Harry just smirks at Louis, like he’s challenging him, and says, “I dunno. I think I might be right.”_ _ _ _

____Louis rolls his eyes because there’s _no way_ , Liam would have _told him_ , but he lets Harry think he’s right. They’re distracted shortly after by the arrival of Niall and Bressie. “You’re late,” Louis says sternly. “I didn’t see you at the ceremony.”_ _ _ _

____“I’m sorry,” Niall says, looking sheepish. “I’ve just been switched to days at the hospital so I couldn’t get vacation time. Had to come once me shift was done.”_ _ _ _

____Bressie’s got his arm around Niall’s waist, holds him protectively there, and Louis lets them have it. He knows Niall works hard, and he’s seen the hours his own mum has had to keep; twelve hour shifts are brutal but they’re the best way to keep the hospital running. Niall looks good though; he’s not limping and he’s given up the blonde hair. Bressie tried his best to colour it for Niall whenever he needed, but it was hard to keep up on with the crazy hours at hospital, so Niall let it go. Now he’s got a rich, warm brown colour for hair instead -- his natural colour -- and it’s grown on him. He’s fit, and he’s got glasses as well, and adulthood looks really good on him._ _ _ _

____“Well, I’m sure Payno’s glad you could make it,” Zayn chimes in to diffuse the situation. Louis has been so worried about making sure the day was perfect that he forgets sometimes to be empathetic._ _ _ _

____Instead of pushing it further, though, Louis’s eyes instead drift to the hand around Niall’s waist, to the way Niall looks so at home in Bressie’s arms, and then his eyes catch sight of their hands - their _left_ hands, with rings on them. “You’re engaged!?” Louis asks, a bit shocked._ _ _ _

____Nick sits up, eyebrow raised, suddenly more interested in the conversation, and Harry’s whole face lights up. “Really!?” he asks excitedly._ _ _ _

____Niall’s cheeks turn bright red and Bressie coughs awkwardly. “Erm… married, actually,” Niall says, and they can barely hear him, he’s being so timid._ _ _ _

____“ _Married _?” Louis shrieks.___ _ _ _

______He stares for a minute, at the matching rings on their fingers and then back up at them. “Since when?” he asks._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Well… we sort of decided it years ago. Like, about when I finished uni?” Niall explains. He sits down at the table, Bressie taking the seat next to him. Niall takes a sip of the wine sitting in front of him, something to quell the nerves, before he continues. “But like, being at the hospital, on the night shift, and Bressie doing physical therapy during the day, we didn’t see each other a whole lot. So like… one day when we both had the time on a holiday back in Ireland, we just went and did it.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“We were so busy there for a while, we knew we couldn’t plan it,” Bressie adds. “Hell, we still have trouble planning stuff even though Ni’s schedule has calmed down.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I’m sorry we didn’t like, invite you guys,” Niall says. “It was kind of spur of the moment, last winter.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“As long as that’s not the reason why you missed my birthday party, I’m okay with it,” Louis says, narrowing his eyes at them._ _ _ _ _ _

______Niall bursts out laughing and Bressie just shakes his head. “Nah,” Bressie explains. “That was Niall having to be at a home birth, and I was wiped out from having to work all day.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Okay then,” Louis says. “I suppose I can let it go.” He smirks._ _ _ _ _ _

______Nobody seems all that _angry_ about it, but they’re most certainly surprised. Niall is usually so calculated, so predictable, that hearing he ran off to marry Bressie is a bit out of character for him. Except it makes total sense, knowing how busy he is, how badly he wanted to get back into his career after his knee surgery. He’d done the surgery just after graduation, before he’d worried about finding a job, and he’d been off his feet for nearly a full six months because of it._ _ _ _ _ _

______Suddenly there’s the sound of knives tapping on wine glasses and everyone is quieting down for Liam and Sophia, who are standing together up at the front table, their own little table, surrounded by fairy lights and flowers and lots of smiling faces. “We just wanted to thank everyone for coming,” Sophia says, beaming. She twists the microphone in her hand and smiles over at Liam as she says, “This day has been so perfect so far.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Liam’s grinning back at her, his eyes dancing with happiness, and he gently takes the microphone from her as he says, “Yeah… I’m just absolutely amazed at the turnout, and how great you’ve all been.” He faces out at the crowd, scanning to look at everyone he adores, everyone who has just become a part of his family, and everyone who’s been a part of his family forever. The whole room is just full of it, of adoration for these two, though it’s nothing compared to what they clearly share for each other. “While we’ve all got you here, we just wanted to tell you that we’ll be moving into our new home sooner than planned. We’re actually moving next week, though I’ve only fixed up the kitchen and the master suite so far. It’s just that… we’ve got to get to work on the nursery.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Sophia smiles brightly and takes the microphone back to say, “The little one is due in January.” Her cheeks are pink and Louis doesn’t miss the way her hand drops to her belly, just for a second. He sees the slight change in her body, the smallest of curves under her hand, and he narrows his eyes at Harry._ _ _ _ _ _

______“She told you,” he hisses._ _ _ _ _ _

______Harry looks like the cat who ate the canary as he grins, those dimples still as prominent as the day they met, and he shakes his head. He combs his long hair out of his face, the curls falling over his shoulders, and holds out his hand. “I’m just good like that,” he whispers back._ _ _ _ _ _

______Zayn, who’d been holding onto the cash for the bet, hands over all two hundred pounds to Harry whilst the rest of the room cheers for Liam and Sophia. They all join in as Harry pockets the cash, and Sara wakes, whining slightly. “Come here, love,” Zayn says, and scoops her over onto his lap. She droops over him now, instead of Harry, and puts her head on Zayn’s shoulder, facing Louis._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Hello, darling,” he says, smiling at her. “No reason to cry, it’s all good noise.” Sara doesn’t like noise, doesn’t like the way it makes her ears ring after, or the way it feels so overwhelming, so scary when she doesn’t know why it’s happening. Zayn pats her back as Louis pushes some of her dark, wispy hair out of her face, and they get lost in their own world for a moment, focusing all their attention on their daughter._ _ _ _ _ _

______And in a way, she really is theirs, even Louis’s, because Perrie’s gone back to school, and she’s living with her friends Leigh-Anne, Jade, and Jesy, and they’ve got their own lives. Perrie’s got Sara some weekends, but Zayn… he was more serious about the whole parenthood thing, more ready for it, and Louis has always had a way with kids. It works better this way, makes more sense like this, and Louis and Zayn are both content with where they’re at now. They don’t know what they’d do without Sara, bringing them closer, softening them, reminding them that there are bigger things in the world to worry about than a party or chasing a feeling that’s never quite as good as it sounds._ _ _ _ _ _

______The dinner starts then and Sara perks up at the smell, but Louis insists on changing her first. “This dress cost Payno a fortune,” he tells Zayn. “We should put her in her pyjamas, else we’ll never get her comfortable for bed tonight.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Just a little longer,” Zayn pleads, but Louis will win - he always does._ _ _ _ _ _

______So he carries Sara into the house and helps her change into a pair of footed pyjamas, rose pink like Eleanor’s dress, but fuzzy and comforting for when Sara inevitably falls asleep shortly after and stays asleep throughout the night. She’s inherited her father’s sleeping habits - she sleeps hard, and needs lots of it, so they’ve had to learn to be more prepared. Niall smiles proudly as he watches the way Zayn and Louis are with Sara, the way they’re so in tune with each other, so mature, so naturally fit to be fathers, but none are as happy as Harry and Nick._ _ _ _ _ _

______They’ve discussed it a lot, the way Louis has so much potential in him, and Zayn’s got all this locked up ambition as well, and that maybe, just maybe, they’ll start to put it to use. And they have, and it’s a relief to see, because for a while neither was going anywhere. Sara’s done them both good, and Nick and Harry both only wanted the best for them. In the buffet line, Louis is filling up his plate whilst Zayn sits with Sara at the table, and Nick comes up behind him in line. “You’re looking good,” he says._ _ _ _ _ _

______It’s been years since they dated - at least six, but Louis has lost count - and just a few less since they’ve had an actual proper conversation. Louis looks over, confused at first, but doesn’t want to fight. He’s been chasing a toddler for the better part of six hours, and on top of that, fighting with Nick just doesn’t sound fun anymore. It sounds like a chore, like something Louis no longer has any interest in doing. “Thanks,” Louis says, and coughs awkwardly as he grabs more food for his plate. “You do, as well. You and Harry working out well?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yeah, though I dunno if we could take the _cutest couple_ prize, not by a mile.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Louis snorts. “Not with that hair, you won’t.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Nick pauses, isn’t sure how to respond to that, until Louis peeks over his shoulder with a grin on his face. “I agree,” Louis says, surprising himself with the admission. “Liam and Sophia are something else.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“They are,” Nick hums in agreement. “Though I’d put you and Zayn at a close second.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Louis furrows his brows. “You would?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______They step out of line, plates full, and Louis looks up at Nick. He’s baffled as to why Nick would say that, why anyone would think that, because they’re just lads living together. Who kiss. And sometimes fuck. And raise a child together. Nothing cheesy and remarkably chick-flick worthy, not like Liam and Sophia. “I would, yeah,” Nick nods, speaking easily, like this isn’t some big deal to get bent out of shape over. “You’re both really great with Sara. I know Harry’s really happy for you two as well.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Well, I’ve always wanted a family,” Louis says awkwardly._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I’m glad you’ve made yourself one,” Nick says earnestly. “I always knew you would.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Louis scowls. “No. Pretty sure you all thought I was going to die from all that partying, at one point.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Well, yes, but unlike them, I knew you’d get out of it eventually,” Nick admits. “You’re a lot of things, Louis, but stupid is not one of them.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“You hardly know me.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Nick just studies him for a moment before he nods. “You’re right, I don’t anymore. But I know what you showed me, back when we were dating, and I doubt you are a completely different person. You showed a lot of strength when I was a total prick to you, and like… the way you’d talk about your family, about wanting one someday? I knew you weren’t going to cut your time short. You wanted all of that other stuff too badly.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Louis purses his lips and considers it. Nick feels like a near stranger to him now, yet seems to know everything there is to know about Louis. It’s disconcerting, but also kind of sweet in a way. It makes Louis feel less like he was nothing to Nick, like he didn’t matter at all. The feeling is a relief, even years later. “Well… thanks, Grimmy. I appreciate that,” he says kindly. But kind isn’t like him, kind isn’t how Louis is with people. He likes leaving them looking a little bit affronted and like he’s slapped them in the face, because it’s amusing and he can get away with it, so he says, “I still think your hair looks stupid, though.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“That’s fair,” Nick nods._ _ _ _ _ _

______He’d gotten a haircut, short up top but buzzed at the sides, and Harry hated it. He’s heard Harry say at least once a day since the haircut that he can’t wait until it grows out again. He’s well aware that it’s terrible. “I should get back to Zayn,” Louis says after an awkward pause. “Looks like Sara’s having a strop again. She’ll need to be going to bed soon.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Nick nods, and he follows because they’re at the same table, but he winds up caught into a conversation with Eleanor and Max and doesn’t say much else to Louis the rest of the night._ _ _ _ _ _

______Louis and Zayn manage to get one dance out of Sara before she starts to fuss, so they reluctantly walk up to Liam and Sophia to say goodnight. “Congrats you two,” Zayn says as Liam hugs Louis._ _ _ _ _ _

______Sophia picks up Sara and smiles at her, complimenting her pyjamas before she turns to Zayn and says, “Thanks. It’s been a big day.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“How long have you known you were pregnant?” Louis asks as he goes in for a hug with Sophia, to say goodbye._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Just a couple of weeks,” she says softly. “I was worried I wouldn’t fit into my dress, but we had it taken out last week and it’s fitting fine, now.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“You look beautiful,” Liam says, sliding his arm around her waist._ _ _ _ _ _

______He watches Sophia with Sara, the way she cradles her on her hip and smiles at her and treats her like the whole world, and he just knows. Liam’s always known though, really, that Sophia was _the one_ , the mum to his future children and the woman he wanted to grow old with. And now they have it all, right there in front of them, and Liam’s still got his best friend by his side. “I’m glad you guys were here,” Liam says to Louis as Zayn takes Sara back._ _ _ _ _ _

______“As if we would have missed it,” Louis scoffs, rolling his eyes._ _ _ _ _ _

______Sara’s whining and sucking on her thumb, a habit they’ve been trying to get her to break, but they let her do it to keep her quiet as they say their goodbyes. “See you soon, Payno.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Moving day. I expect both of you to help. Soph isn’t lifting a finger,” Liam tells them._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Stop that,” Sophia chides. “I’ll be doing plenty.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Louis laughs and says to her, “Good luck trying.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Another family is stepping in to say goodbye, so Louis and Zayn have to cut their goodbyes short. They’ll be seeing Sophia and Liam so soon it doesn’t matter anyway, but it’s still nice, Louis thinks, to be able to share one last moment with them on the happiest day of their lives._ _ _ _ _ _

______They walk through the garden and up to the massive house where they’ve got a room with a cot in it, a nice little space for them to spend the night before going back to Colchester the next morning. Zayn’s getting tired now, Louis can tell, because he’s not saying anything, and he’s yawning as they walk up the lawn._ _ _ _ _ _

______It’s so peaceful outside, the last dregs of the sunset peeking over the horizon as stars creep in above them. Sara’s drifted off to sleep in Zayn’s arms and Louis doesn’t want there to be any noise; he likes the quiet, for once. It’s not lonely or terrifying or filled with an uncertainty that he doesn’t know how to process. It’s just - it _is_. It’s quiet, just the way he likes it, and it’s not boring or annoying or any of that. Louis’s learned to appreciate peace and quiet, to take it as a time to relax rather than a time to cause trouble. He’s learned the value of thinking, of sitting and just _being_ , to clear his mind, to find his center._ _ _ _ _ _

______They’re quiet as Zayn tucks Sara into her cot, and as they change out of their suits, and they come back together in bed, wearing their trackies but nothing else, Louis behind Zayn. He drapes his arm around Zayn’s waist and smiles into his shoulder. “This tattoo is my favourite,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s shoulder blade. Zayn’s littered with tattoos, but the one that holds the most meaning, the one that used to nearly make Louis cry tears of happiness when he saw it, was the place on his back where he’s just kissed Zayn, where he’s got the letters _L-o-u-i-s_ tattooed permanently into his skin._ _ _ _ _ _

______He adores the tattoo, thinks it’s so much more honest to who Zayn is, so much more permanent than marriage, just like what they’ve got. Louis has always scoffed at the idea of marriage for himself; he doesn’t want to get down on one knee and take that risk, but he’d been fine putting Zayn’s name under his skin as well, in the same place on his own shoulder blade. This type of commitment is unique and so true to who they are, not only because they’ve both got smatterings of tattoos, but because they don’t need to show it to the world. What they’ve got is warm and close and private, and it’s part of what makes it so easy for Louis. They’re not out on display, kissing in public and sitting on each other’s laps. They’re caring for Sara and sharing the same thoughts and everything is so internal that having some sort of external accessory like a ring just… it didn’t make sense._ _ _ _ _ _

______Zayn felt it too, liked knowing that he’s permanent in Louis’s life and on his skin, and likes proving the same sort of private, earth-shattering love for Louis in return._ _ _ _ _ _

______And then there’s underneath their names, where they’ve both got one beautiful, curled name with a heart next to it - _Sara_. Their daughter, the missing puzzle piece to their family, this little girl who is all theirs, forever and ever._ _ _ _ _ _

______Never before has Louis felt so settled in his life, so happy to be where he is and who he is, but Zayn and Sara - they give him that. They’ve given his wandering soul a home._ _ _ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading xx
> 
> Find me on tumblr [.](http://tiffinities.tumblr.com/)


End file.
